Of  C1LIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ASGELES 


GARNERED   SHEAYES. 


DR.    HOLLAND'S    WORKS. 

Each  in  one  volume  12wo. 

BITTER-SWEET:  a  Poem,      .    .' $1  50 

KATHRINA:  a  Poem, 1  50 

LETTERS  TO  YOUNG  PEOPLE, 1  50 

GOLD-FOIL,  hammered  from  Popular  Proverb*,    1  75 

LESSONS  IN  LIFE, 1  75 

PLAIN  TALKS,  on  Familiar  Subjects 1  75 

LETTERS  TO  THE  JONESES, 1  75 

iffSS  GILBERTS  CAREER, 2  00 

MAT  PATH, x>  00 

Thejlrst  six  volumes  are  issued  in  cabinet  size  (lOwo), 
"Jirigtiiwooti  Edition,"1  at  same  prices  as  above. 


GARNERED  SHEAVES 


THE 


COMPLETE  POETICAL  WORKS 


OF 


J.   G.   HOLLAND. 


NEW  YORK: 
SCRIBNER,  ARMSTRONG  &  CO. 

1873. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1872,  t>5 

SCRIBNER,  ARMSTRONG  &  CO., 
la  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington, 


LANCE,    LlTTI.K    &    IIlLLMAN', 

108  to  114  Wooster  Street,  N.  Y. 


CONTENTS. 


BITTER-SWEET. 


PAUL 

PICTURE,      -------  9 

PERSONS,                                  -       .   -           -           -           -  14 

PRELUDE,     -                      ------  17 

FIEST  MOVEMENT— COLLOQUIAL. 

THE  QUESTION  STATED  AND  ARGUED,     -  23 

FIRST  EPISODE. 

THE  QUESTION  ILLUSTRATED  BY  NATURE,    -  CT 

SECOND  MO  VEMENT—NARRA  TIVE. 

THE  QUESTION  ILLUSTRATED  BY  EXPERIENCE,  87 

SECOND  EPISODE. 

THE  QUESTION  ILLUSTRATED  BY  STORY,                -          -  155 

THIRD  MOVEMENT- DRAMATIC. 

THE  QUESTION  ILLUSTRATED  BY  THB  DENOUEMENT,  181 

L'ENVOY, 316 


CONTENTS. 


KATHRINA. 


A  TRIBUTE,  .       7 

PART  I. 

CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH,      -  13 

COMPLAINT,                      -          -          -          -          -  -      6b 

PART  II. 

LOVE,     -  71 

A  REFLECTION,                                                            .  -    173 

PART  HI. 

LABOR,  175 

DESPAIR,  --------  355 

PART  IV. 

CONSUMMATION,                 .....  ggj 


CONTENTS. 


MARBLE    PROPHECY, 


OTHER    POEMS. 


PAGE 

THE  MARBLE  PKOPHECY 1 

THE  WINGS 23 

INTIMATIONS 32 

WORDS 36 

SLEEPING  AND  DREAMING 38 

ON  THE  RIGHI 44 

GEADATIM 46 

RETURNING  CLOUDS 48 

EUREKA 50 

WHERE  SHALL  THE  BABY'S  DIMPLE  BE  ? 52 

THE  HEART  OF  THE  WAR 54 

To  A  SLEEPING  SINGER 60 

SONG  AND  SILENCE 61 

ALONE 63 

ALBERT  DURER'S  STUDIO 66 

THE  OLD  CLOCK  OP  PRAGUE 68 

A  CHP.ISTMAS  CAROL  ...  73 


8  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

VEKSEJ  READ  AT  THE  HADLEY  CENTENNIAL 7-1 

WANTED 7U 

MKKLK  THE  COUNSELLOU 80 

DANIEL  GUAY 80 

THE  MOUNTAIN  CHRISTENING 91 

A  GOLDEN  WEDDING-SONG 'M 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTKATIONS. 


1.    POUT  ISA  IT,        -          •  Frontispiece. 


BITTER-SWEET. 

PASE. 

2.  HEHK  DWELLS  TUB  GOOD  OLD  FARMER  ISRAEL,  14 

3.  I  SEE  THAT  WHOM  GOD  LOVES  HE  CHASTENS  SORELY,  30 

4.  TlIE  FISNY  ARMIES  CLOG  THE  TWINE  THAT  SWEEPS 

THE  LAZY  RIVER,  - 

5.  MAX  FELLS  THE  FORESTS,  PLOUGHS  AND  TILLS  THE 

FIELDS, 

AND  HEAPS  THE  GRANARIES  THAT  FEED  THE  WORLD,         90 

6.  — WINE  WAS  ON  HIS  BOARD 
WITHOUT  MY  PROTEST — WITH  A  GLASS  FOR  ME,       -          118 

7.  AND  ERE  I  KNEW,  AND  BY  NO  ACT  OF  WlLL 

I  ROSE  AND  GAVE  HIM  GENTLE  COURTESY,  136 

8.  "TEMPTED  IN    ALL   POINTS  LIKE   OURSELVES  WAS 

HE- 
TKMPTKD  BUT  SINLESS,"  146 

9.  DEAR  HUSBAND  !  DAVID  !  LOOK  UPON  YOUR  WIFE  !          208 


PICTURE. 


WINTER'S  wild  birtlmight !     In  the  fretful  East 
The  uneasy  wind  moans  with  its  sense  of  cold, 
And   sends    its  sighs  through   gloomy   mountain 

gorge, 

Along  the  valley,  up  the  whitening  hill, 
To  tease  the  sighing  spirits  of  the  pines, 
And  waste  in  dismal  woods  their  chilly  life. 
The  sky  is  dark,  and  on  the  huddled  leaves — 
The  restless,  rustling  leaves — sifts  down  its  sleet, 
Till  the  sharp  crystals  pin  them  to  the  earth, 
And  they  grow  still  beneath  the  rising  storm. 
The  roofless  bullock  hugs  the  sheltering  stack, 
With  cringing  head  and  closely  gathered  feet, 
And  waits  with  dumb  endurance  for  the  morn. 
Deep  in  a  gusty  cavern  of  the  baru 


10  BITTER-SWEET. 

The  witless  calf  stands  blatant  at  his  chain  ; 
While  the  brute  mother,  pent  within  her  stall, 
With  the  wild  stress  of  instinct  goes  disti  might, 
And   frets  her  horns,    and    bellows  through   the 

night. 

The  stream  runs  black  ;  and  the  far  waterfall 
That  sang  so  sweetly  through  the  summer  eve?, 
And  swelled  and  swayed  to  Zephyr's  softest  breath. 
Leaps  with  a  sullen  roar  the  dark  abyss, 
And  howls  its  hoarse  responses  to  the  wind. 
The  mill  is  still.     The  distant  factory, 
That  swarmed  yestreen  with  many  fingered  life 
And  bridged  the  river  with  a  hundred  bars 
Of  molten  light,  is  dark,  and  lifts  its  bulk 
With  dim,  uncertain  angles,  to  the  sky. 

-X-  *  #  *  #  1- 

Yet  lower  bows  the  storm.     The  leafless  trees 
Lash  their  lithe  limbs,  and,  with  majestic  voice, 
Call  to  each  other  through  the  deepening  gloom ; 
And  slender  trunks  that  lean  on  burly  bough, 
Shriek  with  sharp  abrasion ;  and  the  oak, 
Mellowed  in  fibre  by  unnumbered  frosts, 


Bl  TTER-S  WEET.  11 

Yields  to  the  shoulder  of  the  Titan  Blast. 
Forsakes  its  poise,  and,  with  a  booming  crash, 
Sweeps  a  fierce  passage  to  the  smothered  rocks, 

And  lies  a  shattered  ruin. 
******  * 

Other  scene  :- 

Across  the  swale,  half  up  the  pine-capped  hill, 
Stands    the    old  farm-house    with  its    clump    of 

bams — 

The  old  red  farrn-hoiise — dim  and  dun  to-night, 
Save  where  the  ruddy  firelights  from  the  hearth 
Flap  their  bright  wings  against  the  window 

panes, — 

A  billowy  swarm  that  beat  their  slender  bars, 
Or  seek  the  night  to  leave  their  track  of  flame 
Upon  the  sleet,  or  sit,  with  shifting  feet 
And  restless  plumes,  among  the  poplar  boughs — 
The  spectral  poplars,  standing  at  the  gate. 

And  now  a  man,  erect,  and  tall,  and  strong, 
Whose  thin  white  hair,  and  cheeks   ol   furrowed 
bronze, 


12  BITTER-SWEET. 

And  ancient  dress,  betray  the  patriarch, 

Stands  at  the  window,  listening  to  the  stoiiu, 

And  as  the  fire  leaps  with  a  wilder  flanie — 

Moved  by  the  wind — it  wraps  and  glorifies 

His  stalwart  frame,  until  it  flares  and  glows 

Like  the  old  prophets,  in  transfigured  guise, 

That  shape  the  sunset  for  cathedral  aisles. 

And  now  it  passes,  and  a  sweeter  shape 

Stands  in  its  place.     0  blest  maternity  ! 

Hushed  on  her  bosom  in  a  light  embrace, 

Her  baby  sleeps,  wrapped  in  its  long  white  robe  ; 

And  as  the  flame,  with  soft,  auroral  sweeps, 

Illuminates  the  pair,  how  like  they  seem, 

O  Virgin  Mother  !  to  thyself  and  thine  ! 

Now  Samuel  comes  with  curls  of  burning  gold 

To  hearken  to  the  voice  of  God  without : 

"  Speak,  mighty  One  !     Thy  little  servant  hears  !' 

And  Miriam,  maiden,  from  her  household  cares 

Comes  to  the  window  in  her  loosened  robe, — 

Comes  with  the  blazing  timbrels  in  her  hand, — 

And,  as  the  noise  of  winds  and  waters  swells. 

It  shapes  the  song  of  triumph  to  her  lips  : 


BITTER-SWEET.  13 

"  The  horse  aiid  he  who  rode  are  overthrown  !" 
And  now  a  man  of  noble  port  and  brow, 
And  aspect  of  benignant  majesty, 
Assumes  the  vacant  niche,  while  either  side 
Press  the  fair  forms  of  children,  and  I  hear  : 
"  Suffer  the  little  ones  to  come  unto  me  1" 


PERSONS. 


HEBE  dwells  the  good  old  fanner,  Israel, 
In  his  ancestral  home — a  Puritan 
Who  reads  his  Bible  daily,  loves  his  God, 
And  lives  serenely  in  the  faith  of  Christ. 
For  three  score  years  and  ten  his  life  has  run 
Through  varied  scenes  of  happiness  and  woe  ; 
But,  constant  through  the  wide  vicissitude, 
He  has  confessed  the  giver  of  his  joys, 
And  kissed  the  hand  that  took  them ;  and  when 
e'er 

Bereavement  has  oppressed  his  soul  with  grief, 
Or  sharp  misfortune  stung  his  heart  with  pain, 
He  has  bowed  down  in  Childlike  faith,  and  said, 
"Thy  will,  O  God— thy  will  be  done,  not  mine  !" 


HERE  DWELLS  THE  GOOD  OLD  FAIIMEK  ISRAEL. 


BITTER-SWEET.  15 

His  gentle  wife,  a  dozen  summers  since, 

Passed  from  his  faithful  arms  and  went  to  heaven  ; 

And  her  best  gift— a  maiden  sweetly  named — 

His  daughter  Ruth — orders  the  ancient  house, 

And  fills  her  mother's  place  beside  the  board, 

And  cheers  his  life  with  songs  and  industry. 

But  who  are  these  who  crowd  the  house  to-night — 

A  happy  throng  ?     Wayfaring  pilgrims,  who, 

Grateful  for  shelter,  charm  the  golden  hours 

With  the  sweet  jargon  of  a  festival  ? 

Who  are  these  fathers  ?  who  these  mothers  ?  who 

These  pleasant  children,  rude  with  health  and  joy  ? 

It  is  the  Puritan's  Thanksgiving  Eve  ; 

And  gathered  home,  from  fresher  homes  around, 

The  old  man's  children  keep  the  holiday — 

In  dear  New  England,  since  the  fathers  slept — 

The  SAveetest  holiday  of  all  the  year. 

John  comes  with  Prudence  and  her  little  girls, 

And  Peter,    matched  with  Patience,    brings   his 

boys — 
Fair  boys  .and  girls  with  good  old  Scripture  names — 


1C  BITTER-SWEET 

Joseph,  Kebekali,  Paul,  and  Samuel ; 

And  Grace,  young  Hutu's  companion  in  the  house, 

Till  wrested  from  her  last  Thanksgiving  Day 

By  the  strong  hand  of  Love,  brings  home  her  bube, 

And  the  tall  poet  David,  at  whose  side 

She  went  away.     And  seated  in  the  midst, 

Mary,  a,  foster-daughter  of  the  house, 

Of  alien  blood — self-aliened  many  a  year — 

Whose  chastened  face  and  melancholy  eyes 

Bring  all  the  wondering  children  to  her  knee, 

Weeps  with  the  strange  excess  of  happiness, 

And  sighs  Avith  joy. 

What  recks  the  driving  storm    f 
Of  such  a  scene  as  this  ?    And  what  rock  these 
Of  such  a  storm  ?     For  every  heavy  gust 
That  smites  the  windows  with  its  cloud  of  sleet, 
And  shakes  the  sashes  with  its  ghostly  hands, 
And  rocks  the  mansion  till  the  chimney's  throat 
Through  all  its  sooty  caverns  shrieks  and  howls, 
They  give  full  bursts  of  careless  merriment, 
Or  songs  that  send  it  baffled  on  its  way. 


PRELUDK 


DOUBT  takes  to  wings  on  such  a  night  as  this  ; 
And  while  the  traveller  hugs  his  fluttering  cloak, 
And  staggers  o'er  the  weary  waste  alone, 
Beneath  a  pitiless  heaven,  they  flap  his  face, 
And  wheel  above,  or  hunt  his  fainting  soul, 
As,  with  relentless  greed,  a  vulture  throng, 
With  their  lank  shadows  mock  the  glazing  eyes 
Of  the  last  camel  of  the  caravan. 
And  Faith  takes  forms  an^  wings  on  such  a  night. 
Where    love    burns    brightly    at    the    household 

hearth, 

And  from  the  altar  of  each  peaceful  heart 
Ascends  the  fragrant  incense  of  its  thanks, 
And  every  pulse  with  sympathetic  throb 
Tells  the  true  rhythm  of  trustfulest  content, 


18  BITTER-SWEET. 

They  flutter  in  and  cmt,  and  touch  to  smiles 
The  sleeping  lips  of  infancy;  and  fan 
The  blush  that  lights  the  modest  maiden's  cheeks  ; 
And  toss  the  locks  of  children  at  their  play. 

Silence  is  vocal  if  we  listen  well  : 

And  Life  and  Being  sing  in  dullest  ears 

From  morn  to  night,  from  night  to  morn  again, 

With  fine  articulations  ;  but  when  God 

Disturbs  the  soul  with  terror,  or  inspires 

With  a  great  joy,  the  words  of  Doubt  and  Faith 

Sound  quick  and  sharp  like  drops  on  forest  leaves ; 

And  we  look  up  to  where  the  pleasant  sky 

Kisses  the  thunder-claps,  and  drink  the  song. 

3  Son (\  of  Doubt. 

The  day  is  quenched,  and  the  sun  is  fled ; 

God  lias  forgotten  the  world ! 
The  moon  is  gone,  and  the  stars  are  dead; 

God  has  forgotten  the  world ! 

Evil  has  won  in  the  horrid  feud 
Of  ages  with  the  Throne ; 


BITTER-SWEET.  19 

Evil  stands  on  the  neck  of  Good, 
And  rules  the  world  alone. 

There  is  no  good ;  there  is  no  God ; 

And  Faith  is  a  heartless  cheat, 
Who  bares  the  back  for  the  Devil's  rod, 

Aud  scatters  thorns  for  the  feet. 

What  are  prayers  in  the  lips  of  death, 

Filling  and  chilling  with  hail  ? 
What  are  prayers  but  wasted  breath, 

Beaten  back  by  the  gale  ? 

The  day  is  quenched,  and  the  situ  is  fle<I  ; 

God  has  forgotten  the  world  ! 
The  moon  is  gone,  and  the  stars  are  dead  • 

God  has  forgotten  the  world  ! 

£  Scmnt  of  fcutl). 

Day  will  return  -with  a  fresher  boon  ; 

God  will  remember  the  world  ! 
Night  will  come  with  a  newer  moon  ; 

God  will  remember  the  world  ! 


20  BITTER-SWEET. 

Evil  is  only  the  slave  of  Good  ; 

Sorrow  the  servant  of  Joy  ; 
And  the  soul  is  mad  that  refuses  food 

Of  the  meanest  in  God's  employ. 

The  fountain  of  joy  is  fed  by  tears, 
And  love  is  lit  by  the  breath  of  sighs  ; 

The  deepest  griefs  and  the  wildest  feara 
Have  holiest  ministries. 

Strong  grows  the  oak  in  the  sweeping  storm  ; 

Safely  the  flower  sleeps  under  the  snow  ; 
And  the  farmer's  hearth  is  never  warm 

Till  the  cold  wind  starts  to  blow. 

Day  will  return  with  a  fresher  boon  ; 

God  will  remember  the  world  ! 
Night  will  come  with  a  newer  moon  ; 

God  will  remember  the  world  ! 


FIRST  MOVEMENT. 


COLLOQUIAL. 


FIRST  MO  VEMENT. 


LOCALITY — The  square  room  of  a  A'eio  England  farm-house. 

PRESENT — ISRAEL,  head  of  the  family;  JOHN,  PETEK,  DAVID,  PA 
TIENCE,  PRUDENCE,  GUACE,  MAKY,  RUTH  and  CHILDREN. 


THE  QUESTION  STATED  AND  AKGUED. 

ISRAEL. 

RUTH,  touch  the  cradle.     Boys,  you  must  be  still ! 

The  baby  cannot  sleep  in  such  a  noise. 

Nay,    Grace,    stir    not ;     she'll    soothe  him   soon 

enough, 

And  toll  liini  more  sweet  stuff  in  half  an  hour 
Than  you  can  dream,  in  dreaming  half  a  year. 


24  BITTER-SWEET. 

EUTH. 

[Kneeling  and  rocking  t\t  cradle. 

What  is  the  little  one  thinking  about  ? 
Very  -wonderful  tilings,  no  doubt. 
Unwritten  history  1 
Unfathomed  mystery ! 

Yet  he  laughs  and  cries,  and  eats  and  drinks, 
And  chuckles  and  crows,  and  nods  and   winks, 
As  if  his  head  were  as  full  of  kinks 
And  curious  riddles  as  any  sphinx  ! 
Warped  by  colic,  and  wet  by  tears, 
Punctured  by  pins,  and  tortured  by  fears, 
Our  little  nephew  will  lose  two  years  ; 
And  he'll  never  know 
Where  the  summers  go  ; — 
He  need  not  laugh  for  he'll  find  it  so  1 

Who  can  tell  what  a  baby  thinks  ? 
Who  can  follow  the  gossamer  links 


SITTER-SWEET.  25 

By  which  the  maiinikin  feels  liis  way 
Out  from  tfiie  shore  of  the  great  unknown, 
Blind,  and  wailing,  and  alone, 

Into  the  light  of  day  ?— 
Out  from  the  shore  of  the  unknown  sea, 
Tossing  in  pitiful  agony, — 
Of  the  unknown  sea  that  reels  and  rolls, 
Speckled  with  the  barks  of  little  souls — 
Barks  that  were  launched  on  the  other  side, 
And  slipped  from  Heaven  on  an  ebbing  tide  ! 

What  does  he  think  of  his  mother's  eyes  ? 
What  does  he  think  of  his  mother's  hair  ? 

What  of  the  cradle-roof  that  flies 
Forward  and  backward  through  the  air  ? 

What  does  he  think  of  his  mother's  breast — 
Bare  and  beautiful,  smooth  and  white, 
Seeking  it  ever  with  fresh  delight-— 

Clip  of  his  life  and  couch  of  his  rest  ? 
What  does  he  think  when  her  quick  embrace 
Presses  his  hand  and  buries  his  face 


2G  SITTER-SWEET. 

Deep  where  the  heart-throbs  sink  and  swell 
With  a  tenderness  she  can  never  tell, 

Though  she  murmur  the  words 

Of  all  the  birds- 
Words  she  has  learned  to  murmur  well  ? 

Now  he  thinks  he'll  go  to  sleep  ! 

I  can  see  the  shadow  creep 

Over  his  eyes,  in  soft  eclipse, 

Over  his  brow,  and  over  his  lips, 

Out  to  his  little  finger  tips  ! 

Softly  sinking,  down  he  goes  ! 

Down  he  goes  !    Down  he  goes  ! 

[Rising,  and  carefully  retreating  to  her  seat. 

See  !    He  is  hushed  in  sweet  repose  ! 
DAVID. 

[Yawning' 
Behold  a  miracle  !     Music  transformed 

To  morphine,  and  the  drowsy  god  invoked 
i 

By  the  poor  prattle  of  a  maiden's  tongue  ! 
A  moment  more,  and  we  should  all  have  gone 


BITTER-SWEET.  27 

Down  into  dreamland  -with  the  babe  !    Ah,  well ! 
There  is  no  end  of  wonders. 

RUTH. 

None,  indeed ! 

When  lazy  poets  who  have  gorged  themselves, 
And  cannot  keep  awake,  make  the  attempt 
To  shift  the  burden  of  their  drowsiness, 
"  And  charge  a  girl  with  what  they  owe  to  greed. 

DAVID. 

At  your  old  tricks  again  !    No  sleep  induced 
By  song  of  yours,  or  any  other  bird's, 
Can  linger  long  when  you  begin  to  talk. 
Grace,  box  your  sister's  ears  for  me,  and  save 
The  trouble  of  my  rising. 

RUTH. 

[Advancing,  and  kneeling  by  the  side  of  Grace, 

Sister  mine, 
Now  give  the  proof  of  your  obedience 


28',  BITTER-SWEET. 

To  your  imperious  lord  !    Strike,  if  you  dare  ! 
I'll  wake  your  baby  if  you  lift  your  liand. 
Ha  !  king  ;  ha  !  poet ;  who  is  master  noAv — 
Baby  or  husband  ?    Pr'ythee,  tell  me  that. 
Were  I  a  man, — thank  Heaven  I  am  not ! — 
And  had  a  wife  who  cared  not  for  my  will 
More  than  your  wife  for  yours,  I'd  hang  myself, 
Or  wear  an  apron.     See  !  she  kisses  me  ! 

DAVID. 

And  answers  to  my  will,  though  well  she  knows 
I'll  spare  to  her  so  terrible  a  task, 
And  take  the  awful  burden  on  myself  ; 
Which  I  will  do,  in  future,  if  she  please  ! 

EDTH. 
Now  have  you  conquered !    Look  !    I  am  yotu 

slave. 

Denounce  me,  scourge  me,  anything  but  kiss  ; 
For  life  is  sweet,  and  I  alone  am  left 
To  comfort  an  old  man. 


BITTER-SWEET.  29 

ISKAEL. 

Ruth,  that  will  do  ! 
Remember  I'm  a  Justice  of  the  Peace, 
And  bide  no  quarrels  ;  and  if  you  and  David 
Persist  in  strife,  I'll  place  you  under  bonds 
For  good  behavior,  or  condemn  you  both 
To  solitary  durance  for  the  night. 

KUTH. 

Father,  you  fail  to  understand  the  case, 
And  do  me  wrong.     David  has  threatened  me 
With  an  assault  that  proves  intent  to  kill ; 
And  here's  my  sister  Grace,  his  wedded  wife, 
Wlio'Il  take  her  oath,  that  just  a  year  ago 
He  entered  into  bonds  to  keep  the  peace 
Toward  me  and  womankind. 

DAVID. 

I'm  quite  asleep. 


30  BITTER-SWEET. 

ISRAEL. 

We'll  all  agree,  then,  to  pronounce  it  quits. 

KUTH. 

Till  he  awake  again,  of  coitrse.     I  trust 
I  have  sufficient  gallantry  to  grant 
A  nap  between  encounters,  to  a  foe 
With  odds  against  him. 

ISRAEL. 

Peace,  my  daughter,  peace  ! 
You've  had  your  full  revenge,  and  we  have  had 
Enough  of  laughter  since  the  day  began. 
We  must  not  squander  all  these  precious  hours" 
In  jest  and  merriment ;  for  when  the  sun 
Shall  rise  to-morrow,  we  shah1  separate, 
Not  knowing  we  shall  ever  meet  again. 
Meetings  like  this  are  rare  this  side  of  Heaven, 
And  seem  to  me  the  best  mementoes  left 
Of  Eden's  hours. 


BITTER-SWEET.  8 

GRACE. 

Most  certainly  the  best, 
And  quite  tlie  rarest,  but,  unluckily, 
The  weakest,  as  we  know  ;  for  sin  and  pain 
And  evils  multiform,  that  swarm  the  earth, 
And  poison  all  our  joys  and  all  our  hearts, 
Remind  us  most  of  Eden's  forfeit  bliss. 

DAVID. 

Forfeit  through  woman. 

GRACE. 

Forfeit  through  her  power  ; 
A  power  not  lost,  as  most  men  know,  I  think, 
Beyond  the  knowledge  of  their  trustful  Avives. 

MART. 

[Rising  and  walking  hurriedly  to  the  window. 

'Tis  a  wild  night  without. 


S3  mi  TEES.  WEET. 

KUTH. 

And  getting  wild 

Within.     Now  Grace,  I — all  of  us — protest 
Against    a    scene    to-night.      Look!      You    have 

driven 

One  to  the  window  blushing,  and  your  lord, 
With  lowering  brow,  is  making  stern  essay 
To  stare  the  fire-dogs  out  of  countenance. 
These  honest  brothers,  with  their  honest  wives, 
Grow  glum  and  solemn,  too,  as  if  tH|y  feared 
At  the  next  gust  to  see  the  windows  burst, 
Or  a  riven  poplar  crashing  through  the  roof. 
And  think  of  me  ! — a  simple  hearted  maid 
Who  learned  from  Cowper  only  yesterday 
(Or  a  schoolmaster,  with  a  handsome  face, 
And  a  strange  passion  for  the  text),  the  fact, 
That  wedded  bliss  alone  survives  the  fall 
I'm  shocked  ;  I'm  frightened  ;  and  I'll  never  wed 
Unless  I — change  my  mind  ; 


BITTER-SWEET,  33 

ISRAEL. 

And  1  consent. 

DAVID. 

And  the  schoolmaster  with  the  handsome  face 
Propose.     t- 

RUTH. 

Your  pardon,  father,  for  the  jest  1 
But  I  have  never  patience  with  the  ills 
That  make  intrusion  on  my  happy  hours. 
I  know  the  world  is  full  of  evil  things, 
And  shudder  with  the  consciousness.     I  know 
That  care  has  iron  crowns  for  many  brows  ; 
That  Calvaries  are  everywhere,  whereon 
Virtue  is  crucified,  and  nails  and  spears 
Draw  guiltless  blood  ;  that  sorrow  sits  and  drinks 
At  sweetest  hearts,  till  all  their  life  is  diy  ; 
That  gentle  spirits  on  the  rack  of  pain 


84  BITTER-SWEET. 

Grow  faint  or    fierce,   and   pray    and    curse  by 

turns; 

That  Hell's  temptations,  clad  in  Heavenly  guise, 
And  armed  -with  might,  lie  evermore  in  wait 
Along  life's  path,  giving  assault  to  all — 
Fatal  to  most  ;    that  Death  stalks    through   the 

earth, 

Choosing  his  victims,  sparing  none  at  last ; 
That  in  each  shadow  of  a  pleasant  tree 
A  grief  sits  sadly  sobbing  to  its  leaves  ; 
And  that  beside  each  fearful  soul  there  walks 
The  dim,  gaunt  phantom  of  uncertainty, 
Bidding  it  look  before,  where  none  may  see. 
And  all  must  go  :  but  I  forget  it  all — 
I  thrust  it  from  me  always  when  I  may ; 
Else  I  should  faint  with  fear,  or  drown  myself 
In  pity.     God  forgive  me  !  but  I've  thought 
A  thousand  times  that  if  I  had  His  power, 
Or  He  my  love,  we'd  have  a  different  world 
From  this  we  live  in. 


BITTER-SWEET. 


ISBAKL. 

V 

Tliose  are  sinful  tliouglits, 
My  daugliter,  and  too  surely  indicate 
A  wilful  soul,  unreconciled  to  God. 


ETJTH. 

»• 
So  you  have  told  me  often.     You  have  said 

That  God  is  just,  and  I  have  looked  around 
To  seek  the  proof  in  human  lot,  in  vain. 

The  rain  falls  kindly  on  the  just  man's  fields, 

-• 

But  on  the  unjust  man's  more  kindly  still ; 
And  I  have  never  kno\vn  the  winter's  blast, 
Or  the  quick  lightning,  or  the  pestilence, 
Make  nice  discriminations  when  let  slip 
From  God's  right  hand. 

ISRAEL. 

'Tis  a  great  mystery  ; 
Yet  God  is  just,  and, — blessed  be  His  name  !- 


30  BITTER-SWEET. 

Is  loving  too,     I  know  that  I  am  weak, 
And  that  the  pathway  of  His  Prpjpjlence 

Is  on  the  hills  where  I  may  never  climb. 

•  •  *-,* 

Therefore  my  reason  yields  her  hand  to  Faith, 

And  folloAvs  meekly  where  the  angel  leads. 

I  see  the  rich  man  have  his  portion  here, 

And  Lazarus,  in  glorified  repose,  * 

Sleep  like  a  jewel  on  the  breast  of  Faith 

In  Heaven's  broad  light.     I  see  that  whom  God 

loves 

He  chastens  sorely,  but  I  ask  iiob  why. 
I  only  know  that  God  is  just  and  good  : 
All  else  is  mystery.     Why  evil  lives 
Within  His  universe,  I  may  not  know. 
I  know  it  lives,  and  taints  the  vital  air  ; 
And  that  in  ways  inscrutable  to  me — 
Yet  compromising  not  his  soundless  love 
And  boundless  power — it  lives  against  His  will. 


I  SEE  THAT  WHOM  GOD  LOVES  HE  CHASTENS  SORELY. 


BITTER-SWEET. 


37 


EUTH. 

I  am  not  satisfied.     If  evil  live 

Against  God's^^^pil  is  king  of  all, 

N 
And  they  do  weiTwho  worship  Lucifer. 

I  am  not  satisfied.^  ^reason  spurns 

Such  pvost; 

I  know  t 

From 

And  feel 

4 

With  the 


ties. 

;  but  I  shrink 
loathing  and  with  fear, 
if  I  win, 
.ot  of  will  alone, 


But  of  the  noblest  faculty  that  God 
Has  crowned  me  with. 


ISRAEL. 

O  blind  and  stubborn  child! 
My  light,  my  joy,  my  burden  and  my  grief  ! 
How  would  I  lead  you  to  the  wells  of  peace, 
And  see  you  dip  your  fevered  palms  and  drink. 
Gladly  to  purchase  this  would  I  lay  down 


!38  BITTER-SWEET. 

The  precious  remnant  of  my  life,  and  sleep, 
Wrapped  in  the  faith  you  spurn,  till  the  archange 
Sounds  the  last  trump.     But  God's  will  be  done  J 
I  leave  you  with  Him. 

RUTH. 

Father,  talk  not  thus  I 
Oh,  do  not  blame  me  !    I  would  do  it  all, 
If  but  to  bless  you  with  a  single  joy ; 
But  I  am  helpless. 

-*  *• 

ISRAEL. 

God  will  help  you,  Ruth. 

RUTH. 

To  quench  my  reason  ?     Can  I  ask  the  boon  ? 
My  lips  would  blister  with  the  blasphemy. 
I  cannot  take  your  faith  ;  and  that  is  why 
I  would  forget  that  I  am  in  a  world 


BITTERSWEET.  3f, 

Where  evil  lives,  and  why  I  guard  my  joys 
With  such  a  jealous  care. 


"There,  Euth,  sit  down  I 
'Tis  the  old  question,  with  the  old  reply. 
You  fly  along  the  path,  with  bleeding  feet, 
Where  many  feet  have  flown  and  bled  before  ; 
And  he  who  seeks  'to  guide  you  to  the  goal, 
Has  (let  me  say  it,  father,)  stopped  far  short, 
And  taken  rel^e  at  sjfcayside  inn, 
Whose  haunted  halls  and  mazy  passages 
Receive  no  light,  save  through  the  riddled  roof, 
Pierced  thick  by  pilgrim  staves,  that  Faith  rnaj 

He 

Upon  its  back,  and  only  gaze  on  heaven. 
I  would  not  banish  evil  if  I  could  ; 
Nor  would  I  be  so  deep  in  love  with  joy 
As  to  seek  for  it  in  f orgetfulness, 
Through  faith  -or  fear. 


40  BITTER-SWEET. 

RUTH. 

Teach  me  tlie  better  way, 
And  every  expiration  from  ruy  lips 
Shall  be  a  grateful  blessing  ou_your  head  ; 
And  in  the  coming  world  I'll  seek  the  side 
Of  no  more  gracious  angel  than  the  man 
Who  gives  me  brotherhood  by  leading  me 
Home  with  himself  to  heaven. 

ISRAEL. 

• 
My  son, 

Be  careful  of  your  words  !     "Tis  no  light  thing 
To  take  the  guidance  of  a  straying  soul. 


[  mark  the  burden  well,  and  love  it,  too, 
Because  I  love  the  girl  and  love  her  lord, 
And  seek  to  -vindicate  His  love  to  her 
And  waken  hers  for  Him.     Be  this- my  plea : 


BITTER-SWEET.  4, 

God  is  almighty — ail-benevolent ; 
And  naught  exists  save  by  His  loving  will. 
Evil,  or  what  we  reckon  such,  exists, 
And  not  against Jbis  will ;  else  the  Supreme 
Is  subject,  and  we  have  in  place  of  God 
A  phantom  nothing,  -with  a  phantom  name. 
Therefore  I  care  not  whether  He  ordain 
That  evil  live,  or  whether  He  permit ; 
Therefore  I  ask  not  why,  in  either  case, 
As  if  He  meant  to  curse  me,  but  I  ask 
What  He  would  have  this  evil  do  for  me  ? 

!*. 

What  is  its  mission  ?  what  its  ministry  ? 
What  golden  fruit  lies  hidden  in  its  husk  ? 
How  shall  it  nurse  my  virtue,  nerve  my  will, 
Chasten  my  passions,  purify  my  love, 
And  make  me  in  some  goodly  sense  like  Him 
Who  bore  the  cross  of  evil  while  He  lived, 
Who  hung  and  bled  upon  it  when  he  died, 
And  no\vT,  in  glory,  wears  the  victor's  crown  ? 


42  BITTER-SWEET. 

ISRAEL. 

If  evil,  then,  have  part  and  privilege 

In  the  economy  of  holiness, 

Why  came  the  Christ  to  save  us  from  its  power 

And  bring  us  restoration  of  the  bliss 

Lost  in  the  lapse  of  Eden  ? 

DAVID. 

And  would  you 

Or  Kuth  have  restoration  of  that  bliss, 
And  welcome  transplantation  to  the  state 
Associate  with  it  ? 

KUTH. 

Would  I?    Would  I  not? 
Oh,  I  have  dreamed  of  it  a  thousand  times, 
Sleeping  and  waking,  since  the  torch  of  thought. 
Flashed  into  flame  at  Revelation's  touch, 
And  filled  my  spirit  with  its  quenchless  fire 


BITTERSWEET.  43 

Most  envious  dreams  of  innocence  and  joy 

Have  haunted  me, — dreams  that  were  born  in  sin. 

Yet  swathed  in  stainless  snow.     I' ye  dreamed,  and 

dreamed,, 

Of  wondrous  trees,  crowned  with  perennial  green, 
Whose  soft  still  shadows  gleamed    with    golden 

lamps 

Of  pensile  fruitage,  or  were  flushed  with  life 
.Radiant  and  tuneful  when  broad  flocks  of  birds 
Swept  in  and  out  like  sheets  of  living  flame. 
I've  dreamed  of  aisles  tufted  with  velvet  grass, 
And  bordered  with  the  strange  intelligence 
Of  myriad  loving  eyes  among  the  flowers, 
That  watched  me  with  a  curious,  cairn,  delight, 
As  rows  of  wayside  cherubim  may  watch 
A  new  soul  walking  into  Paradise. 
I've  dreamed  of  sunsets  when  the  sun  supine 
Lay  rocking  on  the  ocean  like  a  god, 
And  threw  his  weary  arms  far  up  the  sky, 
And  with  vermilion-tinted  fingers  toyed 


44  J31TTEE-SWEET. 

With  the  long  tresses  of  the  evening  star. 

I've  dreamed  of  dreams  more  beautiful  than  all — 

Dreams  that  were  music,  perfume,  vision,  bliss, — 

Blent  and  sublimed,  till  I  have  stood  enwrapped 

In  the  quick  essence  of  an  atmosphere 

That  made  me  tremble  to  unclose  my  eyes 

Lest  I  should  look  on  God.     And  I  have  dreamed 

Of  sinless  men  and  maids,  mated  in  heaven, 

Ere  yet  their  souls  had  sought  for  beauteous  forma 

To  give  them  human  sense  and  residence, 

Moving  through  ah1  this  realm  of  choice  delights 

For  ever  and  for  aye  !  with  hands  and  hearts 

Immaculate  as  light ;  without  a  thought 

Of  evil,  and  without  a  name  for  fear. 

Oh,  when  I  wake  from  happy  dreams  like  these, 

To  the  old  consciousness  that  I  must  die, 

To  the  old  presence  of  a  guilty  heart, 

To  the  old  fear  that  haunts  me  night  and  day, 

Why  should  I  not  deplore  the  graceless  fall 

That  makes  me  what  I  am,  and  shuts  me  out 


BITTER-SWEET.  45 

From  a  condition  and  society 

As  much  above  a  sinful  maiden's  dreams 

As  Eden  blest  surpasses  Eden  curst  ? 

c 

DAVED. 

So  you  would  be  another  Eve,  and  so — 

Fall  with  the  first  temptation,  like  herself  ! 

God  seeks  for  virtue  ;  you  for  innocence. 

-You'll  find  it  in  the  cradle — nowhere  else — 

Save  in  your  dreams,  among  the  grown  up  babes 

That  dwelt  in  Eden — powerless,  pulpy  souls 

That  showed  a  dimple  for  each  touch  of  sin. 

God  seeks  for  virtue,  and,  that  it  may  live, 

It  must  resist,  and  that  which  it  resists 

Must  live.     Believe  me,  God  has  other  thought 

Than  restoration  of  our  fallen  race 

To  its  primeval  innocence  and  bliss. 

If  Jesus  Christ — as  we  are  taught — was  slain 

From  the  foundation  of  the  world,  it  was 

Because  our  evil  lived  in  essence  then — 


46  BITTER-SWEET. 

Coeval  with  the  great,  mysterious  fact. 

And  He  was  slain  that  we  might  be  transforraed,- 

Not  into  Adam's  sweet  similitude — 

But  the  more  glorious  image  of  Himself, — 

A  resolution  of  our  destiny 

As  high  transcending  Eden's  life  and  lot 

As  He  surpasses  Eden's  fallen  lord. 

RUTH. 

You're  very  bold,  my  brother,  very  bold. 
Did  I  not  know  you  for  an  earnest  man, 
When  sacred  themes  move  you  to  utterance, 
I'd  chide  you  for  those  most  irreverent  words 
"Which  make  essential  to  the  Christian  scheme 
That  which  the  scheme  was  made  to  kill  or  cure, 

DAVID. 

Yet  they  do  save  some  very  awkward  words, 
That  limp  to  make  apology  for  God, 
And,  while  they  justify  Him,  half  confess 
The  adverse  verdict  of  appearances. 


BITTER-SWEET.  47 

I  am  ashamed  that  in  this  Christian  age 
The  pious  throng  still  hug  the  fallacy 
That  this  dear  world  of  ours  was  not  ordained 
The  theatre  of  evil ;  for  no  law 

Declared  of  God  from  all  eternity 

i 
Can  live  a  moment  save  by  lease  of  pain. 

Law  cannot  live,  e'en  in  God's  inmost  thought, 

Save  by  the  side  of  evil.'    What  were  law 

But  a  weak  jest  without  its  penalty  ? 

Never  a  law  was  born  that  did  not  fly 

Forth  from  the  bosom  of  Omnipotence 

Matched,  wing-and-wing,  with  evil  and  with  good, 

Avenger  and  rewarder — both  of  God. 


KUTH. 

I  face  your  thought  and  give  it  audience  ; 
But  I  cannot  embrace  it  till  it  come 
With  some  of  truth's  credentials  in  its  hands, — 
The  fruits  of  erracious  ministries. 


48  BITTER-SWEET. 

DAVID. 

Does  lie 

Who,  driven  to  labor  by  the  threat'ning  weeds, 
And  forced  to  give  his  acres  light  and  air 
And  traps  for  dew  and  reservoirs  for  rain, 
Till,  in  the  smoky  light  of  harvest  time, 
The  ragged  husks  reveal  the  golden  corn, 
Ask  tmth's  credentials  of  the  weeds  ?     Does  he 
Who  prunes  the  orchard  boughs,  or  tills  the  field, 
Or  fells  the  forests,  or  pursues  their  prey, 
Until  the  gnarly  muscles  of  his  limbs 
And  the  free  blood  that  thrills  in  all  his  veins 
Betray  the  health  that  toil  alone  secures, 
Ask  truth's  credentials  at  the  hand  of  toil  ? 
Do  you  ask  truth's  credentials  of  the  storm, 
Which,  while  we  entertain  communion  here, 
Makes  better  music  for  our  huddling  hearts 
Thau  choirs  of  stars  can  sing  in  fairest  nights  ? 
Yet  weeds  are  evils-  evils  toil  and  storm. 


BITTER-SWEET. 

We  may  suspect  the  fair,  smooth  face  of  good ; 
But  evil,  that  assails  us  undisguised, 
Bears  evermore  God's  warrant  in  its  hands. 

ISBAEIi. 

I  fear  these  silver  sophistries  of  yours. 

If  my  poor  judgment  gives  them  honest  weight, 

Far  less  than  thirty  will  betray  your  Lord. 

You  call  that  evil  which  is  good,  and  good 

That  which  is  evil.     You  apologize 

For  that  which  God  must  hate,  and  justify 

The  life  and  perpetuity  of  that 

Which  sets  itself  against  His  holiness, 

And  sends  its  discords  through  the  universe. 

DAVID. 

I  sorrow  if  I  shock  you,  for  I  seek 
To  comfort  and  inspire.     I  see  around 
A  silent  company  of  doubtful  souls  ; 
But  I  may  challenge  any  one  of  them 


50  B1TTER-8  WEET. 

To  quote  tlie  meanest  blessing  of  its  life, 

And  prove  that  evil  did  not  make  the  gift, 

Or  bear  it  from  the  giver  to  his  hands. 

The  great  salvation  wrought  by  Jesus  Christ— 

That  sank  an  Adam  to  reveal  a  God — 

Had  never  come,  but  at  the  call  of  sin. 

No  risen  Lord  could  eat  the  feast  of  love 

Here  on  the  earth,  or  yonder  in  the  sky, 

Had  He  not  lain  within  the  sepulchre. 

'Tis  not  the  lightly  laden  heart  of  man 

That  loves  the  best  the  hand  that  blesses  all ; 

But  that  which,  groaning  with  its  weight  of  siii, 

Meets  with  the  mercy  that  forgiveth  much. 

God  never  fails  in  an  experiment, 

Nor  tries  experiment  upon  a  race 

But  to  educe  its  highest  style  of  life, 

And  siiblimate  its  Issues.     Thus  to  me 

Evil  is  not  a  mystery,  but  a  means 

Selected  from  the  infinite  resource 

To  make  the  most  of  me. 


BITTER-SWEET.  51 

KUTH. 

Thank  God  for  light ! 

These  truths  are  slowly  churning  on  my  soul, 
And  take  position  in  the  firmament 
That  spans  my  thought,  like  stars  that  know  their 

place. 

Dear  Lord  !  what  visions  crowd  before  my  eyes — • 
Visions  drawn,  forth  from  memory's  mysteries 
By  the  sweet  shining  of  these  holy  lights  J 
I  see  a  girl  once  lightest  in  the  dance, 
And  maddest  with  the  gaye'ty  of  life, 
Grow  pale  and  pulseless,  wasting  day  by  day, 
While  death  lies  idly  dreaming  in  her  breast, 
Blighting  her  breath,  and  poisoning  her  blood. 
I  see  her  frantic  with  a  fearful  thought 
That  haunts  and  horrifies  her  shrinking  soul, 
And  bursts  in  sighs  and  sobs  and  feverish  prayers  ; 
And  now,  at  last,  the  awful  struggle  ends. 
A  sweet  smile  sits  upon  her  angel  face, 


52  BITTER-SWEET. 

And  peace  with  downy  bosom,  nestles  close 

Where  her  worn  heart  throbs  faintly  ;  closer  still 

As  the  death  shadows  gather  ;  closer  still, 

As  on  white  wings,  the  outward-going  soul 

Flies  to  a  home  it  never  would  have  sought, 

Had  a  great  evil  failed  to  point  the  way. 

I  see  a  youth  whom  God  has  crowned  with  power 

And  cursed  with  poverty.     With  bravest  heart 

He    struggles    with   his    lot,    through    toilsome 

years,— 

Kept  to  his  task  by  daily  want  of  bread, 
And  kept  to  virtue  by  his  daily  task, — 
Till,  gaining  manhood  in  the  manly  strife, — 
The  fire  that  tins  him  smitten  from  a  flint — 
The  strength  that  arms  him  wrested  from  a  fiend-  - 
He  stands,  at  last,  a  master  of  himself, 
And,  in  that  grace, 'a  master  of  his  land. 

DAVID. 
Familiar  visions  these,  but  ever  full 


BITTER-SWEET.  53 

Of  inspiration  and  significance. 
Now  that  your  eyes  are  opened  and  you  see, 
Your  heart  should  take  swift  cognizance,  and  feel 
How  do  these  ^visions  move  you  ? 

RUTH. 

Like  the  hand 

Of  a  strong  angel  oil  my  shoulder  laid, 
Touching  the  secret  of  the  spirit's  wings. 
My  heart  grows  brave.     I'm  ready  now  to  work — 
To  work  with  God,  and  suffer  with  His  Christ ; 
Adopt  His  measures,  and  abide  His  means. 
If,  in  the  law  that  spans  the  universe 
(The  law  its  maker  may  not  disobey), 
Virtue  may  only  grow  from  innocence 
Through  a  great  struggle  with  opposing  ill ; 
If  I  must  win  my  way  to  perfectuess 
In  the  sad  path  of  suffering,  like  Him 
The  overflowing  river  of  whose  life 
Touches  the  flood-mark  of  humanity 
On  the  white  pillars  of  the  heavenly  throne, 


04  B1TTER-S  WtiET. 

Tlien  welcome  evil !    Welcome  sickness,  toil 
Sorrow  anu  pain,  the  fear  and  fact  of  death  ! 

ISKAEL. 
And  welcome  sin  ? 

RUTH. 
Ah,  David  !  welcome  sin  ? 

DAVID. 

The  fact  of  sin — so  much  ; — it  must  needs  be 
Offences  come  ;  if  woe  to  him  by  whom, 
Then  with  good  reason  ;  but  the  fact  of  siu 
Unlocked-  the  door  to  highest  destiny, 
That  Christ  might  enter  in  and  lead  the  way. 
God  loves  not  sin,  nor  I ;  but  in  the  throng 
Of  evils  that  assail  us,  there  are  none 
That  yield  their  strength  to  Virtue's  struggling 

arm 

With  such  munificent  reward  of  power 
As  great  temptations.     We  may  win  by  toil 


BITTER-SWEET.  55 

Eudurance  ;  saintly  fortitude  by  pain  ; 

J3y  sickness,  patience  ;  faith  and  trust  by  fear  ; 

But  the  great  stimulus  that  spurs  to  life, 

And  crowds  to  generous  development 

Each  chastened  power  and  passion  of  the  soul, 

Is  the  temptation  of  the  soul  to  sin, 

Resisted,  and  re-conquered,  everrnore. 

RUTH. 

I  am  content ;  and  now  that  I  have  caught 
Bright  glimpses  of  the  outlines  of  your  scheme 
As  of  a  landscape,  graded  to  the  sky, 
And  seen  through  trees  while  passing,  I  desire 
No  vision  further  till  I  make  survey 
In  some  good  time  when  I  may  come  alone, 
And  drink  its  beauty  and  its  blessedness. 
I've  been  forgetful  in  my  earnestness, 
And  wearied  every  one  with  talk.     These  boys 
Are  restive  grown,  or  nodding  in  their  chairs, 
And  older  heads  are  set,  as  if  for  sleep. 


5«  BITTER  SWEET. 

I  beg  tlieir  pardon  for  my  theft  of  time, 
And  will  offend  no  more. 

DAVTD. 

Ruth,  is  it  right 

To  leave  a  brother  in  such  plight  as  this — 
Either  to  imitate  your  courtesy. 
Or  by  your  act  to  be  adjudged  a  boor  ? 

KUTH. 

Heaven  grant  you  never  note  a  sin  of  mine 
Save  of  your  own  construction  I 

ISRAEL. 

Let  it  pass ! 

I  see  the  spell  of  thoughtfulness  is  gone, 
Or  going  swiftly.     I  will  not  complain  : 
But  ere  these  lads  are  fastened  to  their  games, 
And  thoughts  arise  discordant  with  our  theme, 
Let  us  with  gratitude  approach  the  throne 


B1TTEE-SWEET.  57 

And  worship  God.     I  wish  once  more  to  lead 
Your  hearts  in  prayer,  and  follow  with  my  owu. 
The  leading  of  your  song  of  thankfulness. 
Then  will  I  lease  and  leave  you  for  the  night 
To  such  divertisernent  as  suits  the  time, 
And  meets  your  humor; 

[Tliey  all  arise  and  the  old  man  prays, 

RUTH. 

[After  a  pause, 

David,  let  us  see 

Whether  your  memory  prove  as  true  as  mine. 
Do  you  recall  the  promise  made  by  you 
This  night  one  year  ago, — to  write  a  hymn 
For  this  occasion  ? 


I  recall,  and  keep. 

Here  are  the  copies,  written  fairly  out. 
Here, — father,  Mary,  Ruth,  and  all  the  rest ; 
There's  onu  for  each.     Now  what  shall  be  the  tune  ? 


68  BITTER-SWEET. 

ISRAEL. 

The  old  One  Hundredth — noblest  tune  of  tunes  1 
Old  tunes  are  precious  to  me  as  old  paths 
Iii  which  I  wandered  when  a  happy  boy. 
In  truth  they  are  the  old  paths  of  my  soul, 
Oft  trod,  well  worn,  familiar,  up  to  God. 

€l)c  ijjimu. 

[In  which  all  unite  to  sirg 

For  Summer's  bloom  and  Autumn's  blight, 
For  bending  wheat  and  blasted  maize, 

For  health  and  sickness,  Lord  of  light, 
And  Lord  of  darkness,  hear  our  praise  ! 

"We  trace  to  Thee  our  joys  and  woes, — 
To  Thee  of  causes  still  the  cause, — 

We  thank  Thee  that  Thy  hand  bestows  ; 
/ 

We  bless  Thee  that  Thy  love  withdraws. 


BITTER-SWEET.  50 

We  bring  no  sorrows  to  Thy  throne  ; 

We  come  to  Thee  with  no  complaint. 
In  Providence  Thy  Avill  is  done, 

And  that  is  sacred  to  the  saint. 

Here  on  this  blest  Thanksgiving  Night, 
We  raise  to  Thee  our  grateful  voice  ; 

For  what  Thou  doest,  Lord,  is  right ; 
And  thus  believing,  we  rejoice. 

GRACE. 

A  good  old  tune,  indeed,  and  strongly  sung  ; 
But,  in  my  mind,  the  man  who  wrote  the  hymn 
Had  seemed  more  modest,  had  he  paused  awhile, 
Ere  by  a  trick  he  furnished  other  tongues 
With  words  he  only  has  the  heart  to  sing. 

DAVID. 

Oh,  Grace  !    Dear  Grace  ! 

KUTH. 

You  may  well  cry  for  grace, 
If  that's  the  company  you  have  to  keep. 


GO  BITTER-SWEET. 

GEACE. 

I  thought  you  convert  to  his  sophistry. 
It  makes  no  difference  to  him,  yon  know, 
Whether  I  plague  or  please. 

ETJTH. 

It  does  to  you. 

ISRAEL. 

There,    children !     No    more    bitter    words    liko 

those  ! 

I  do  not  understand  them  ;  they  awake 
A  sad  uneasiness  within  my  heart. 
I  found  but  Christian  meaning  in  the  hymn  ; 
Aye,  I  could  say  amen  to  every  line, 
As  to  the  breathings  of  my  own  poor  prayer. 
But  let  us  talk  no  more.     I'll  to  my  bed. 
Good  night,   my   children  !     Happy   thoughts   bo 

yours 
Till  sleep  amve — then  happy  dreams  till  dawn  1 


BITTER-SWEET.    '  GJ 

ALL. 

Father,  good  night  ! 

PSKAEL  retires 

EUTH. 

There,  little  boys  and  girls- 
Olf  to  the  kitchen  !    Now  there's  fun  for  you. 
Play  blind-man's-buff  until  you  break  your  heads  ; 
And  then  sit  down  beside  the  roaring  fire, 
"And  with  wild  stories  scare  yourselves  to  death. 
We'll  all  be  out  there  by-and-by.     Meanwhile 
I'll  try  the  cellar  ;  and  if  David,  here, 
Will  promise  good  behavior,  he  shall  be 
My  candle-bearer,  basket-bearer,  and — 
But  no  !    The  pitcher  I  will  bear  myself. 
I'll  never  trust  a  pitcher  to  a  man 
Under  this  house,  and — seventy  years  of  age. 

[Tlie  children  rush  out  of  the  room  with  a  shout,  which  wakes 
the  Tjaby. 

That  noisy  little  youngster  on  the  floor 

Slept  through  the  theology,  but  wakes  with  mirth— 


G3  '   BITTER-SWEET. 

Precocious  little  creature  !     He  must  go 

Up  to  liis  chamber.     Come,  Grace,  take  him  off,— 

Basket  and  all.     Mary  will  lend  a  hand, 

And  keep  you  company  until  he  sleeps. 

[GRACE  and  MART  remove  the  cradle  to  tJie  chamber,  and  DAVID 
and  KUXH  retire  to  Oie  cellar. 

JOHN. 

[Rising  and  yawning. 

Isn't  she  the  strangest  girl  you  ever  saAV  ? 

PRUDENCE. 

Queer,  rather,  I  should  say.    Grace,  now,  is  strange. 

I  think  she  treats  her  husband  shamefully. 

I  can't  imagine  Avhat  possesses  her, 

Thus  to  toss  taunts  at  him  with  every  word, 

If  in  his  doctrines  there  be  truth  enough, 

He'll  be  a  saint. 

PATIENCE. 

If  he  live  long  enough. 


BITTER  SWEE1.  63 

JOHN. 

Well,  now,  I  tell  you.  such  'wild  men  AA  he, — 
Men  who  have  crazy  crotchets  in  their  heads, — 
Can't  make  a  woman  happy.     Don't  you  see  ? 
He  isn't  settled.     He  has  wandered  off 
From  the  old  landmarks  and  has  lost  himself. 
I  may  judge  wrongly  ;  but  if  truth  were  told 
There'd  be  excuse  for  Grace,  I  wan-ant  ye. 
Grace  is  a  right  good  girl,  or  was  before 
She  married  David. 

PATIENCE. 
Everybody  says 

He  makes  provision  for  his  family, 
Like  a  good  husband. 

PETER. 

"We  can  hardly  telL 
When  men  get  loose  in  their  theology 
The  screws  are  started  up  in  everything; 


64  BITTER-SWEET. 

Of  course,  I  don't  apologize  for  Grace. 
I  think  she  might  have  done  more  prudently 
Thau  introduce  her  troubles  here  to-night, 
But,  after  all,  we  do  not  know  the  cause 
That  stirs  her  fretfulness. 

Well,  let  it  go  ! 

What  does  the  evening's  talk  amount  to  ?    Who 
Is  wiser  for  the  wisdom  of  the  hour  ? 
The  good  old  paths  are  good  enough  for  me. 
The  fathers  walked  to  heaven  in  them,  and  we, 
By  following  meekly  where  they  trod,  may  reach 
The  home  they  found.     There  will  be  mysteries  : 
Let  those  who  like,  bother  their  heads  with  them, 
If  Kuth  and  David  seek  to  fathom  all, 
I  wish  them  patience  in  their  bootless  quest. 
For  one,  I'm  glad  the  misty  talk  is  done, 
And  we,  alone. 

PATTENCE. 

AndL 


BITTER-SWEET.  05 

JOHN. 

I,  too. 

PRUDENCE, 

And  I. 


FlfiST  EPISODE. 


LOCALITY— Z7<«  Cellar  Stairs  and  Cellar. 
PRESENT— DAVID  and  RUTH. 


THE  QUESTION  ILLUSTRATED  BY  NATUEK 

ETJTH. 

LOOK  where  you  step,  or  you'll  stumble  ! 

Care  for  your  coat,  or  you'll  crock  it ; 
Down  with  your  crown,  man  !    Be  humble  ' 

Put  your  head  into  your  pocket, 

i 
Else  something  or  other  will  knock  it. 

Don't  hit  that  jar  of  cucumbers 


68  BITTE.R-SWEET. 

Standing  on  the  broad  stair  ! 
They  have  not  waked  from  their  slumbers 
Since  they  stood  there. 


DAVTD. 

Yet  they  have  lived  in  a  constant  jar  ! 
"What  remarkable  sleepers  they  are  ! 


BUTH. 

Turn  to  the  left — shun  the  wall- 
One  step  more-  that  is  all ! 
Now  we  are  on  the  ground 
I  will  show  you  around. 

Sixteen  barrels  of  cider 
Ripening  all  in  n  row  ! 
Open  the  vent-channels  wider  ! 
See  the  froth  drifted  like  snow, 


BITTER-SWEET.  69 

Blown  by  tl>e  tempest  bekrw  ! 

Those  delectable  juices 

Flowed  through  the  sinuous  sluices 

Of  sweet  springs  under  the  orchard  ; 

Climbed  into  fountains  that  chained  them  ; 

Dripped  into  cups  that  retained  them, 

And  swelled  till  they  dropped,  and  we  gained  them. 

Then  they  were  gathered  and  tortured 

By  passage  from  hopper  to  vat, 

And  fell — every  apple  crushed  flat. 

Ah  !  how  the  bees  gathered  round  them  ! 

And  how  delicious  they  found  them  ! 

Oat-straw,  as  fragrant  as  clover, 

Was  platted,  and  smoothly  turned  over, 

Weaving  a  neatly-ribbed  basket ; 

And  as  they  built  up  the  casket, 

In  went  the  pulp  by  the  scoop-full, 

Till  the  juice  flowed  by  the  stoup-full, — 

Filling  the  half  of  a  puncheon 

While  the  men  swallowed  their  luncheon. 


70  BITTER-SWEET. 

Pure  grew  the  stream  with  the  stress 

Of  the  lever  and  screw, 
Till  the  last  drops  from  the  press 

Were  as  bright  as  the  dew. 
There  were  these  juices  spilled  : 
There  were  these  barrels  filled  ; 
Sixteen  barrels  of  cider — 
Bipening  all  in  a  row  ! 
Open  the  vent-channels  wider  ! 
See  the  froth,  drifted  like  snow, 
Blown  by  the  tempest  below  ! 


DAVTD. 

Hearts,  like  apples,  are  hard  and  sour, 
Till  crushed  by  Pain's  resistless  power  ; 
And  yield  their  juices  rich  and  bland 
To  none  but  Sorrow's  heavy  hand. 
The  purest  streams  of  human  love 
Flow  naturally  never, 


BITTER-SWEET.  71 


But  gusli  by  pressure  from  above, 

With  God's  hand  on  the  lever. 
The  first  are  turbidest  and  meanest ; 
The  last  are  sweetest  and  serenest. 


KUTH. 

Sermon  quite  short  for  the  text ! 

What  shall  we  hit  upon  next  ? 

Lift  up  the  lid  of  that  cask  ; 
See  if  the  brine  be  abundant ; 

Easy  for  me  were  the  task 
To  make  it  redundant 

With  tears  for  my  beautiful  Zephyr- 
Pet  of  the  pasture  and  stall — 

Whitest  and  comeliest  heifer, 
Gentlest  of  all ! 

Oh  it  seemed  cruel  to  slay  her  ! 
But  they  insulted  my  prayer 
For  her  careless  and  innocent  life, 


72  BITTER-SWEET. 

And  the  creature  was  brought  to  the  kiiif  o 

With  gratitude  in  her  eye  ; 
For  they  patted  her  back  and  chafed  her  head, 
And  coaxed  her  with  softest  words  as  they  led 

Her  up  to  the  ring  to  die. 
Do  you  blame  me  for  ciying 
When  my  Zephyr  was  dying  ? 
I  shut  my  room  and  my  ears, 
And  opened  my  heart  and  my  tears, 
And  wept  for  the  half  of  a  day  ; 

And  I  could  not  go 

To  the  rooms  below 
Till  the  butcher  went  away. 

DAVID. 

Life  evermore  is  fed  by  death, 

In  earth  and  sea  and  sky  ; 
And,  that  a  rose  may  breathe  its  breath, 
Something  must  die. 


BITTER-SWEET.  73 

Earth  is  a  sepulchre  of  flowers, 

Whose  vitalizing  mould 
Through  boundless  transmutation  towers, 
In  green  and  gold. 

The  oak  tree,  struggling  with  the  blast, 

Devours  its  father  tree, 
And  sheds  its  leaves  and  drops  its  mast, 
That  more  may  be. 

The  falcon  preys  upon  the  finch, 

The  finch  upon  the  fly, 
And  nought  will  loose  the  hunger-pinch 
But  death's  wild  cry. 

The  milk-haired  heifer's  life  must  pass 

That  it  may  fill  your  own, 
As  passed  the  sweet  life  of  the  gross 
She  fed  upon. 


74  BITTER-SWEET. 

The  power  enslaved  by  yonder  cask 

Shall  many  burdens  bear  ; 
Shall  nerve  the  toiler  at  his  task, 

The  soul  at  prayer. 

From  lowly  woe  springs  lordly  joy  ; 

From  humbler  good  diviner  ; 
The  greater  life  must  aye  destroy 

And  drink  the  minor. 

From  hand  to  hand  life's  cup  is  passed 

Up  Being's  piled  gradation, 
Till  men  to  angels  yield  at  last 

The  rich  collation. 

RUTH. 

Well,  we  are  done  with  the  brute  ; 
Now  let  us  look  at  the  fruit, — 
Every  barrel,  I'm  told, 
From  grafts  half  a  dozen  years  old. 


BITTER-SWEET.  75 

That  is  a  barrel  of  russets  ; 
But  we  can  hardly  discuss  its 

Spheres  of  frost  and  flint, 
Till,  smitten  by  thoughts  of  Spring, 
And  the  old  tree  blossoming, 
Their  bronze  takes  a  yellower  tint, 
And  the  pulp  grows  mellower  in't  ; 
But  oh  !  when  they're  sick  with  savors 

Of  sweets  that  they  dream  of, 
Sure,  all  the  toothsomest  flavors 

They  hold  the  cream  of  ! 
You  will  be  begging  in  May, 
In  your  irresistible  way, 
For  a  peck  of  the  apples  in  gray. 

Those  are  the  peamiains,  I  think, — 
Bland  and  insipid  as  eggs  ; 
They  were  too  lazy  to  drink 

The  light  to  its  dregs, 
And  left  them  upon  the  rind — 


7(5  BITTER-SWEET. 

A  delicate  film  of  blue — 
Leave  them  aloue  ; — I  can  find 
Better  apples  for  you. 

Those  are  the  Kliode  Island  greenings  ; 

Excellent  apples  for  pies  ; 
There  are  no  mystical  meanings 

In  fruit  of  that  color  and  size. 
They  are  too  coarse  and  too  juiceful ; 
They  are  too  large  and  too  useful. 

There  are  the  Baldwins  and  Flyers, 
Wrapped  in  their  beautiful  fires  ! 
Color  forks  up  from  their  stems 

As  if  painted  by  Flora, 
Or  as  out  from  the  pole  stream  the  flames 

Of  the  Northern  Aurora. 

Here  shall  our  quest  have  a  close  ; 
Fill  up  your  basket  with  those  ; 


BITTERSWEET.  77 

Bite  through  their  vesture  of  flame, 

And  then  you  will  gather 
All  that  is  meant  by  the  name, 

"Seek-no-farther  1" 

DAVID. 

The  native  orchard's  fairest  trees, 

Wild  springing  on  the  hill, 
Bear  no  such  precious  fruits  as  these, 
And  never  will  ; 

Till  axe  and  saw  and  pruning  knife       * 

Cut  from  them  every  bough, 
And  they  receive  a  gentler  life 

Than  crowns  them.  now. 

And  Nature's  children,  evermore, 

Though  grown  to  stately  stature, 
Must  bear  the  fruit  their  fathers  bore — 
The  fruit  of  nature  ; 


78  BITTER-SWEET. 

Till  every  thrifty  vice  is  made 

The  shoulder  for  a  cion, 
Cut  from  the  bending  trees  that  shade 
The  hills  of  Zion. 


Sorrow  must  crop  each  passion-shoot, 

And  pain  each  lust  infernal, 
Or  human  life  can  bear  no  fruit 
To  lif  e  eternal. 

For  angels  wait  on  Providence  : 

And  mark  the  sundered  places, 
To  graft  with  gentlest  instruments 

The  heavenly  graces. 

RUTH. 

Well,  you're  a  curious  creature  ! 
You  should  have  been  a  preacher. 
But  look  at  that  bin  of  potatoes — 


BITTER-SWEET.  79 


Grown  in  all  singular  shapes — 
Bed  and  in  clusters  like  grapes, 

Or  more  like  tomatoes. 
Those  are  Merinoes,  I  guess  ; 

Very  prolific  and  cheap  ; 
They  make  an  excellent  iness 

For  a  cow,  or  a  sheep, 
And  are  good  for  the  table,  they  say, 
When  the  winter  has  passed  away. 

Those  are  my  beautiful  Carters  ; 
Eveiy  one  doomed  to  be  martyrs 

To  the  eccentric  desire 
Of  Christian  people  to  skin  them, — 

Brought  to  the  trial  of  fire 
For  the  good  that  is  in  them  ! 
Ivory  tubers — divide  one  ! 

Ivory  all  the  way  through.  ! 
Never  a  hollow  inside  one  ; 

Novel-  a  core,  black  or  blue  ! 


80  BITTER-SWEET. 

Ah,  you  should  taste  them  when  roasted  1 

(Chestnuts  are  not  half  so  good  ;) 
And  you  would  find  that  I've  boasted 

Less  than  I  should. 
They  make  the  meal  for  Sunday  noon  ; 

And,  if  you  ever  eat  one,  let  me  beg 

You  to  manage  it  just  as  you  do  an  egg. 
Take  a  pat  of  butter,  a  silver  spoon, 
And  wrap  your  napkin  round  the  shell ; 
Have  you  seen  a  humming-bird  probe  the  bell 
Of  a  white-lipped  morning-glory  ? 
Well,  that's  the  rest  of  the  story  ! 
But  it's  very  singular,  surely, 
They  should  produce  so  poorly. 
Father  knows  that  I  want  them, 

So  he  continues  to  plant  them  ; 

* 

But,  if  I  try  to  argue  the  question, 
He  scoffs,  as  a  thrifty  farmer  will : 

And  puts  me  down  with  the  stale  suggestion— 
"  Small  potatoes,  and  few  iu  a  hill." 


BITTER-SWEET.  81 


DATED. 

Thus  is  it  over  all  the  earth  ! 

That  which  we  call  the  fairest, 
And  prize  for  its  surpassing  worth, 
Is  always  rarest. 

Iron  is  heaped  in  mountain  piles, 

And  gluts  the  laggard  forges  ; 
But  gold-flakes  gleam  in  dim  defiles, 
And  lonely  gorges. 

The  snowy  marble  flecks  the  land 

With  heaped  and  rounded  ledges, 
But  diamonds  hide  within  the  sand 
Their  starry  edges. 

The  finny  armies  clog  the  twine 

That  sweeps  the  lazy  river, 
But  pearls  come  singly  from  the  brine, 
With  the  pale  diver. 


82  BITTER-SWEET. 

God  gives  no  value  unto  men 

Unmatched  by  meed  of  labor  ; 
And  Cost  of  Worth  has  ever  been 

The  closest  neighbor. 

Wide  is  the  gate  and  broad  the  way 

That  open  to  perdition, 
And  countless  multitudes  are  they 

Who  seek  admission. 

But  strait  the  gate,  the  path  unkind, 

That  lead  to  life  immortal, 
And  few  the  careful  feet  that  find 

The  hidden  portal 

All  common  good  has  common  price  ; 

Exceeding  good,  exceeding ; 
Christ  bought  the  keys  of  Paradise 
By  cruel  bleeding  ; 

And  every  soul  that  wins  a  place 
Upon  its  hills  of  pleasure, 


THE  FINNY  ARMIES    CLOG    TUB    TWINE    THAT    SWEEPS  THE  LAZY  EIVEB. 


BITTER-SWEET.  83 

Must  give  its  all,  and  beg  for  grace 
To  fill  tlie  measure. 

Were  every  hill  a  precious  mine, 

And  golden  all  the  mountains  ; 

Were  all  the  rivers  fed  with  wine 

By  tireless  fountains ; 

Life  would  be  ravished  of  its  zest, 

And  shorn  of  its  ambition, 
And  sink  into  the  dreamless  rest 
Of  inanition. 

Up  the  broad  stairs  that  Value  rears 

Stand  motives  beck'ning  earthward, 
To  summon  men  to  nobler  spheres, 

And  lead  them  worthward. 

RUTH. 

I'm  afraid  to  show  you  anything  more  ; 
For  parsnips  and  art  are  so  very  long, 


84  BITTER-SWEET. 

That  the  passage  back  to  the  cellar-door 

Would  be  through  a  mile  of  song. 
But  Truth  owns  me  for  an  honest  teUer  ;      ^ 

And  if  the  honest  truth  be  told, 
I  am  indebted  to  you  and  the  cellar 

For  a  lesson  and  a  cold. 
And  one  or  the  other  cheats  my  sight ; 

(O  silly  girl  !  for  shame  !) 
Barrels  are  hooped  with  rings  of  light, 

And  stopped  with  tongues  of  flaine. 
Apples  have  conquered  original  sin, 

Manna  is  pickled  in  brine, 
Philosophy  iills  the  potato  bin, 

And  cider  will  soon  be  wine. 
So  crown  the  basket  with  mellow  fruit, 

And  brim  the  pitcher  with  pearls  ; 
And  we'll  see  how  the  old-time  dainties  suit 

The  old-time  boys  and  girls. 

[They  ascend  the  stairs 


SECOND   MOVEMENT. 

NARRATIVE. 


SECOND     MOVEMENT, 


LOCALITY— A  Chamber. 
PRESENT— GEACE,  MABT,  and  the  BABY. 

THE  QUESTION  ILLUSTRATED  BY  EXPE 
RIENCE. 

GRACE. 

[Singt. 

Hither,  Sleep  !    A  mother  wants  thee  ! 

Come  with  velvet  arms  ! 
Fold  the  baby  that  she  grants  thee 

To  thy  own  soft  charms  ! 

Bear  him  into  Dreamland  lightly  I 
Give  him  sight  of  flowers  ! 


88  BITTER-SWEET. 

Do  not  bring  him  back  till  brightly 
Break  the  morning  hours  ! 

Close  his  eyes  with  gentle  fingers  ! 

Cross  his  hands  of  snow  ! 
Tell  the  angels  where  he  lingers 

They  must  whisper  low  1 

I  will  guard  thy  spell  unbroken 

If  thou  hear  my  call ; 
Come  then,  Sleep  !  I  wait  the  token 

Of  thy  downy  thrall. 

Now  I  see  his  sweet  lips  moving  ; 

He  is  in  thy  keep  ; 
Other  milk  the  babe  is  proving 

At  the  breast  of  sleep  ! 

UAEY. 

Sleep,  babe,  the  honeyed  sleep  of  innocence ! 
Sleep  like  a  bud  ;  for  soon  the  sun  of  life 


BITTER-SWEET.  89 

With  ardors  quick  and  passionate  shall  rise, 
And,  with  hot  kisses,  part  the  fragrant  lips — 
The  folded  petals  of  thy  soul !    Alas  ! 
What  feverish  winds  shall  tease  and  toss  thee,  then  ! 
What  pride  and  pain,  ambition  and  despair, 
Desire,  satiety,  and  all  that  fill 
With  misery  life's  fretful  enterprise, 
Shall  wrench  and  blanch  thee,  till  thou  fall  at  last. 
Joy  after  joy  down  fluttering  to  the  earth, 
•To  be  apportioned  to  the  elements  ! 
I  marvel,  baby,  whether  it  were  ill 
That  he  who  planted  thee  should  pluck  thee  now, 
And  save  thee  from  the  blight  that  comes  on  ah1. 
I  marvel  whether  it  would  not  be  well 
That  the  frail  bud  should  burst  in  Paradise,  . 
On  the  full  throbing  of  an  angel's  heart ! 

GBACE. 

Oh,  speak  not  thus  !    The  thought  is  terrible. 
He  is  my  all ;  and  yet,  it  sickens  me 


90  BITTER-SWEET. 

To  think  that  lie  will  grow  to  be  a  man. 
If  he  were  not  a  boy  ! 

MAKY. 

Were  not  a  boy  ? 
That    wakens  other    thoughts.     Thank    God  foi 

that! 

To  be  a  man,  if  aught,  is  privilege 
Precious  and  peerless.     While  I  bide  content 
The  modest  lot  of  woman,  all  my  soul 
Gives  truest  manhood  humblest  reverence. 
It  is  a  great  and  god-like  thing  to  do  ! 
'Tis  a  great  thing,  I  think,  to  be  a  man. 
Man  fells  the  forests,  ploughs  and  tills  the  fields, 
And  heaps  the  granaries  that  feed  the  world. 
At  his  behest  swift  Commerce  spreads  her  wings, 
And  tires  the  sinewy  sea-birds  as  she  flies, 
Fanning  the  solitudes  from  clime  to  clime. 
Smoke-crested  cities  rise  beneath  his  hand, 
And  roar  through  ages  with  the  din  of  trade. 
Steam  is  the  fleet-winged  herald  of  his  will, 


MAN  FELLS  THE  FOUKRTS,  PLOUGHS  AND   TILLS  THE  FIELDS, 
AND  HEAPS    THE   GRANARIES  THAT    FEED  THE  WORLD. 


BITTER-SWEET.  91 

Joining  the  angel  of  the  Apocalypse 
Mid  sound  and  smoke  and  wond'rous  circumstance, 
And  Avith  one  foot  upon  the  conquered  sea, 
And  one  upon  the  subject  land,  proclaims 
^hat  space  shall  be  no  more.      The    lightnings 

veil 

Their  fiery  forms  to  wait  upon  his  thought, 
And  give  it  wing,  as  unseen  spirits  pause 
To  bear  to  God  the  burden  of  his  prayer. 
God  crowns  him  with  the  gift  of  eloquence, 
And  puts  a  harp  into  his  tuneful  hands, 
And  makes  him  both  His  prophet  and  His  Priest. 
'Twas  in  his  form  the  great  Immanuel 
Revealed  Himself;  the  Apostolic  Twelve, 
Like  those  who  since  have  ministered  the  Word, 
Were  men.     'Tis  a  great  thing  to  be  a  man. 

GKACE. 

And  fortunate  to  have  an  advocate 
Across  whose  memory  convenient  clouds 
Come  floating  at  convenient  intervals. 


02  BITTER-SWEET. 

The  harvest  fields  that  man  has  honored  most 

Are  those  where,  human  life  is  reaped  like  grain. 

There  never  rose  a  mart,  nor  shone  a  sail, 

Nor  sprang  a  great  invention  into  birth, 

By  other  motive  than  man's  love  of  gold. 

It  is  for  wrong  that  he  is  eloquent ; 

For  lust  that  he  indites  his  sweetest  songs. 

Christ  was  betrayed  by  treason  of  a  man, 

And  scourged  and  hung  upon  a  tree  by  men  ; 

And  the  sad  women  who  were  at  his  cross, 

And  sought  Him  early  at  the  sepulchre, 

And  since  that  day,  in  gentle  multitudes 

Have  loved  and  followed  him,  have  been   man's 

slaves, — 
The  victims  of  his  power  and  his  desire. 

MAJJT. 

And  you,  a  wedded  wife — well  wedded,  too — 
Can  say  all  this,  and  say  it  bitterly  ! 


BITTER-SWEET.  93 

GRACE. 

Perhaps  because  a  wife  ;  perhaps  because — 

MARY. 

Hush,  Grace  !    No  more  !    I  beg  you  say  no  more. 
Nay  !     I  will  leave  you  at  another  word  ; 
For  I  could  listen  to  a  blasphemy, 
Falling  from  bestial  lips,  with  lighter  chill 
Than  to  the  mad  complainings  of  a  soul 
"Which  God  has  favored  as  he  favors  few. 
I  dare  not  listen  when  a  woman's  voice, 
Which  blessings  strive  to  smother,  flings  them  off 
In  mad  contempt.     I  dare  not  hear  the  words 
Whose  utterance  all  the  gentle  loves  dissuade 
By  kisses  which  are  reasons,  while  a  throng 
Of  friendships,  comforts,  and  sweet  charities — 
The  almoners  of  the  All-bountiful — 
With  folded  wings  stand  sadly  looking  on. 
Believe  me,  Grace,  the  pioneer  of  judgment— 


94  BITTER-SWEET. 

Ordained,  commissioned — is  ingratitude  ; 

For  where  it  moves,  good  withers  ;  blessings  die  ; 

Till  a  clean  path  is  left  for  Providence, 

Who  never  sows  a  good  the  second  time 

Till  the  torn  bosom  of  the  graceless  soil 

Is  ready  for  the  seed. 

GKACE. 

Oh,  could  you  know 

The  anguish  of  my  heart,  you  would  not  elude  I 
If  I  repine,  it  is  because  my  lot 
Is  not  the  blessed  thing  it  seems  to  you. 
O  Mary  !    Could  you  know  !    Could  you  but  know  1 

MAKY. 

Then  why  not  tell  me  all  ?    You  know  ?ne,  love, 
And  know  that  secrets  make  their  graves  with  mo ; 
So,  tell  me  all ;  for  I  do  promise  you 
Such  sympathy  as  God  through  suffering 
Has  given  me  power  to  grant  to  such  as  you. 


BITTER-SWEET.  95 

I  bought  it  dearly,  ani  its  largess  waits 
The  opening  of  your  heart. 

GRACE. 

'  1  ara  ashamed,— 

In  truth  I  am  ashamed — to  tell  you  alL 
You  will  not  laugh  at  nie? 

MAKY. 

I  laugh  at  you? 

GltACE. 

Forgive  me,  Mary,  for  my  heart  is  weak; 

Distrustful  of  itself  and  all  the  world. 

All,  well!    To  what  strange  issues  leads  our  life! 

It  seems  but  yesterday  that  you  were  brought 

To  this  old  house  an  orphaned  little  girl, 

Whose  large  shy  eyes,  pale  cheeks,  and  shrinking 

ways 
Filled  all  our  hearts  with  wonder,  as  we  stood 


96  BITTER-SW^ET. 

And  stared  at  you  until  your  heart  o'erfllled 
With  the  oppressive  strangeness,  and  you  wept. 
Yes,  I  remember  how  I  pitied  you — 
I  who  hade  never  wept,  nor  even  sighed. 
Save  on  the  bosom  of  my  gentle  mother  ; 
For  my  quick  heart  caught  all  your  history 
When  with  a  hurried  step  you  sought  the  sun, 
And  pressed  your  eyes  against  the  window-pane 
That  God's  sweet  light  might  dry  them.     Well  I 

knew, 

Though  all  untaught,  that  you  were  motherless. 
And  I  remember  how  I  followed  you, — • 
Embraced    and    kissed    you — Idssed    your    tears 

away — 

Tears  that  came  faster,  till  they  bathed  the  lips 
That  would  have   sealed  their  flooded  fountain- 
heads  ; 

And  then  we  wound  our  arms  around  each  other, 
And  passed  out — out  under  the  pleasant  sky, 
And  stood  among  the  lilies  at  the  door. 


LITTER-SWEET.  97 

1  gave  no  formal  comfort ;  you,  no  thanks  ; 

For  tears  had  been  your  language,  kisses  mine, 

And  we  were  friends.     We  talked  about  our  dolls, 

And  all  the  pretty  playthings  we  possessed. 

Then  we  revealed,  with  childish  vanity, 

Our  little  stores  of  knowledge.     I  was  full 

Of  a  sweet  marvel  when  you  pointed  out 

The  yellow  thighs  of  bees  that,  half  asleep, 

Plundered  the  secrets  of  the  lily-bells, 

And  called  the  golden  pigment  honey-comb. 

And  your  black  eyes  were  opened  very  wide 

When  I  related  how,  one  sunny  day, 

T  found  a  well,  half-covered,  down  the  lane, 

That  was  so  deep  and  clear  that  I  could  see 

Straight  through  the  world,  into  another  sky  ! 

MARY. 

Do  jon  remember  how  the  Guinea  hens 
Set  up  a  scream  upon  the  garden  wall, 
That  frightened  me  to  running,  wher  you  screamed 
With  laughter  quite  as  loud  ? 


98  BITTER-SWEET 

GKACE. 

Ay,  very  well ; 

But  better  still  the  scene  that  followed  all. 
Oh,  that  has  lingered  in  my  memory 
Like  the  divinest  dream  of  Raphael — 
The  Dresden  virgin  prisoned  in  a  print — 
That  watched  with  me  in  sickness  through  long 

weeks, 

And  from  its  frame  upon  the  chamber  wall 
Breathed  constant  benedictions,  till  I  learned 
To  love  the  presence  like  a  Roman  saint. 

My  mother  called  us  in  ;   and  at  her  knee, 

Embracing  still,  we  stood,  and  felt  her  smile 

Shine  on  our  upturned  faces  like  the  light 

Of  the  soft  summer  moon.     And  then  she  stooped ; 

And  when  she  kissed  us,  I  could  see  the  tears 

Brimming  her  eyes.     O  sweet  experiment ! 

To  try  if  love  of  Jestis  and  of  me 

Could  make  our  kisses  equal  to  her  lips  ! 

Then  straight  my  prescient  heart  set  up  a  song. 


BITTER  SWEET.  99 

And  fluttered  in  my  bosom,  like  a  bird. 

E  knew  a  blessing  was  about  to  fall, 

As  robins  know  tlie  coming  of  tlie  rain, 

Aaid  bruit  the  joyous  secret,  ere  its  steps 

Are  heard  upon  the  mountain  tops.     I  knew 

You  were  to  be  my  sister  ;  and  my  heart 

Was  almost  bursting  with  its  love  and  pride. 

I  could  not  wait  to  hear  the  kindly  words 

Our  mother  spoke — her  counsels  and  commands — . 

For  you  were  mine — my  sister  !     So  I  tore 

Your  clinging  hand  from  hers  with  rude  constraint, 

And  took  you  to  my  chamber,  where  I  played 

With  you,  in  selfish  sense  of  property, 

The  whole  bright  afternoon. 

And  here  again, 

Within  this  same  old  chamber  we  are  met. 
We  told  our  secrets  to  each  other  then  ; 
Tims  let  us  tell  them  now  ;  and  you  shall  be 
To  my  grief-burdened  soul  what  you  have  said, 
So  many  times  that  I  have  been  to  yours. 


100  BITTER-SWEET. 

MARY. 

Alas  !    I  never  meant  to  tell  my  talo 
To  other  ear  than  God's  ;  but  you  have  claims 
Upon  my  confidence, — claims  just  rehearsed, 
And  other  claims  which  yon  have  never  known. 

GRACE. 

And  other  claims  -which  I  have  never  known  ! 
You  speak  in  riddles,  love.     I  only  know 
You  grew  to  womanhood,  were  beautiful, 
Were  loved  and  wooed,  were  married  and   wore 

blest ; — 

That  after  passage  of  mysterious  years 
We  heard  sad  stories  of  your  misery, 
And  rumors  of  desertion  ;  but  your  pen 
.Revealed  no  secrets  of  your  altered  life. 
Enough  for  me  that  you  are  here  to-night, 
And  have  an  ear  for  sorrow,  and  a  heart 
Which  disappointment  has  inhabited. 
My  history  you  know.     A  twelvemonth  since 


BITTER-SWEET.  101 

This  fearful,  festive  night,  and  in  this  house, 
I  gave  my  hand  to  one  whom  I  believed 
To  be  the  noblest  man  God  ever  made  ; — 
A  man  who  seemed  to  my  infatuate  heart 
Heaven's  chosen   genius,  through  whose  tuneful 

sou] 

The  choicest  harmonies  of  life  should  flow, 
Growing  articulate  upon  his  lips 
In  numbers  to  enchant  a  willing  world. 
I  cannot  tell  you  of  the  pride  that  filled 
My  bosom,  as  I  marked  ILLS  manly  form, 
And  read  his  soul  through  his  effulgent  eyes, 
And  heard  the  wondrous  music  of  his  voice, 
That  swept  the  chords  of  feeling  in  all  hearts 
With  such  divine  persuasion  as  might  grow 
Under  the  transit  of  an  angel's  hand. 
And,  then,  to  think  that  I,  a  farmer's  child, 
Should  be  the  woman  culled  from  all  the  world 
To  be  that  man's  companion, — to  abide 
The  nearest  soul  to  such  a  soul — to  sit 


102  BITTER-SWEET. 

Close  by  the  fountain  of  his  peerless  life — 
The  welling  centre  of  his  loving  thoughts — 
And  drink  myself,  the  sweetest  and  the  best, — 
To  lay  nay  head  upon  his  breast,  and  feel 
That  of  all  precious  burdens  it  had  borne 
That  was  most  precious — Oh  !  my  heart  was  wild 
With  the  delirium  of  happiness — 
But,  Mary,  you  are  weeping  ! 

MABY. 

Mark  it  not. 

Your  words  wake  memories  which  you  may  guess, 
And  thoughts  Avhich  you  may  sometime  know- 
not  now. 

GBj?CE. 

Well,  we  were  married,  as  I  said  ;  and  I 
Was  not  unthankful  utterly,  I  think  ; 
Though,  if  the  awful  question  had  come  then, 
And  stood  before  me  with  a  brow  severe 
And  steady  finger,  bidding  me  decide 


J31TTEE-SWMJET.    •  103 

Whicli  of  the  two  I  loved  tlie  more,  the  God 

Wlio  gave  my  husband  to  me,  or  His  gift, 

I  know  I  should  have  groaned,  and  shut  my  eyes. 

We  passed  a  honeymoon  whose  atmosphere, 

Flooded  with  inspiration,  and  embraced 

By  a  wide  sky  set  full  of  starry  thoughts, 

And  constellated  visions  of  delight, 

Still  wraps  me  in  my  dreams — itself  a  dream. 

The  full  moon  waned  at  last,  and  in  my  sky, 

With  horn  inverted,  gave  its  sign  of  tears, 

And  then,  when  wasted  to  a  skeleton, 

It  sank  into  a  heavy  sea  of  tears 

That  caught  its  tumult  from  my  sighing  soul. 

My  husband,  who  had  spent  whole  months  with  me, 

Till  he  was  wedded  to  my  eveiy  thought, 

Left  me  through  dreary  hours, — nay,  days, — alone! 

He  pleaded  business — business  day  and  night  ; 

Leaving  me  with  a  formal  lass  at  morn, 

And  meeting  me  with  strange  reserve  at  eve  ; 


104  BITTER-SWEET. 

And  I  could  mark  the  sea  ol  tenderness 

Upon  whose  beach  I  had  sat  down  for  life, 

Hoping  to  feel  for  ever  as  at  first, 

The  love  breeze  from  its  billows,  and  to  clasp 

With  open  arms  the  silver  surf  that  ran 

To  wreck  itself  upon  my  bosom,  ebb, 

Day  after  day  receding,  till  the  sand 

Grew  dry  and  hot,  and  the  old  hulls  appeared 

Of  hopes  sent  out  upon  that  faithless  main 

Since  woman  loved,  and  he  she  loved  was  false. 

Night  after  night  I  sat  the  evening  out, 

And  heard  the  clock  tick  on  the  mantel-tree 

Till  it  grew  irksome  to  me,  and  I  grudged 

The  careless  pleasures  of  the  kitchen  maids 

Whose  distant  laughter  shocked  the  lapsing  hours. 


But  did  your  husband  never  tell  the  cause 
Of  this  neglect  ? 


BITTER-SWEET.  105 

GBACE. 

Never  an  honest  "word. 
He  told  me  lie  was  writing  ;  and,  at  home, 
Sat  down  with  heart  absorbed  and  absent  look. 
I  was  offended,  and  upbraided  him. 
I  knew  he  had  a  secret,  and  that  from 
The  centre  of  its  closely  coiling  folds 
A  cunning  serpent's  head,  with  forked  tongue, 
Swayed  with  a  double  story — one  for  me, 
And  one  for  whom  I  knew  not — whom  he  knew. 
His  words,  which  wandered  first  as  carelessly 
As  the  free  footsteps  of  a  boy,  were  trained 
To  the  stem  paces  of  a  sentinel 
Guarding  a  prison  door,  and  never  tripped 
With  a  suggestion. 

I  despaired  at  last 

Of  winning  what  I  sought  by  wiles  and  prayers  ; 
So,  through  long  nights  of  sleeplessness  I  lay, 
And  held  my  ear  beside  his  silent  lips — 


106  BITTER-SWEET. 

An  eager  cup — ready  to  catcli  the  gush 

Of  the  pent  waters,  if  a  dream-swung  rod 

Should  smite  his  bosom.     It  was  all  in  vain. 

And  thus  mouths  passed  away,  and  all  the  while 

Another  heart  was  beating  under  mine. 

May  Heaven  forgive  me  !  but  I  grieved  the  charma 

The  unborn  thing  was  stealing,  for  I  felt 

That  in  my  insufficiency  of  power 

I  luid  no  charm  to  lose. 

MABT. 

And  did  he  not, 

In  this  most  tender  trial  of  your  heart, 
Turn  in  relenting  ? — give  you  sympathy  ? 

GRACE. 

No — yes  !    Perhaps  he  pitied  me,  and  that 
Indeed  was  very  pitiful ;  for  what 
Has  love  to  do  with  pity  ?     When  a  wife 
Has  sunk  so  hopelessly  in  the  regard 


BITTER-SWEET.  107 

Of  him  she  loves  that  he  ca,n  pity  her, — 

Has  sunk  so  low  that  she  may  only  share 

The  tiibute  which  a  mute  humanity 

Bestows  on  those  whom  Providence  has  struck 

With  helpless  poverty,  or  foul  disease  ; 

She  may  be  pitied,  both  by  earth  and  heaven, 

Because  he  pities  her.     A  pitied  child 

That  begs  its  bread  from  door  to  door  is  blest ; 

A  wife  who  begs  for  love  and  confidence, 

And  gets  but  alms  from  pity,  is  accurst. 

WeE,  time  passed  on  ;  and  rumor  came  at  last 
To  tell  the  story  of  my  husband's  shame 
And  my  dishonor.     He  was  seen  at  night, 
Walking  in  lonely  streets  with  one  whose  eyes 
Were  blacker  than  the  night, — whose  little  hand 
Was  clinging  to  his  arm.     Both  were  absorbed 
In  the  half -whispered  converse  of  the  time  ; 
And  both,  as  if  accustomed  to  the  path, 
Turned  doAvn  an  alley,  climbed  a  flight  of  steps 


BITTER-SWEET. 

Entered  a  door,  and  closed  it  after  them — 
A  door  of  adamant  "twist  hope  and  me. 
I  bad  my  secret ;  and  I  kept  it,  too. 
I  knew  his  haunt,  and  it  was  watched  for  me, 
TQ1  doubt  and  prayers  for  doubt, — pale  flowers 
I  nourished  with  my  tears — were  crashed 
By  the  relentless  hand  of  Certainty. 

Oh,  3Iary  :  Mary  !    Those  were  fearful  days. 
MV  wroncs  aiid  all  their  shameful  history 
Were  opened  to  me  daily,  leaf  by  leaf, 
TL     -  -    ".       -     -        ..-....:.-'.-•_    .     . 

That  page  was  his  :  the  rest  were  in  my  heart 
I  knew  that  he  had  left  niy  home  for  hers  ; 
I  knew  his  nightly  labor  was  to  feed 
Other  than  me ; — that  he  was  loaded  down 

With  cares  that  were  the  price  of  sinful  love. 

-• 

Grace,  in  your  heart  do  you  believe  all  this  ? 
I  fear — I  know — you  do  your  husband  wrong. 


BITTERSWEET.  1 

He  is  not  competent  for  treachery. 
He  is  too  good,  too  noble,  to  desert 
The  woman  whom  he  only  lores  too  weB. 
You  love  him  not  ! 

;       :: 

I  lore  him  not  ?    Alas  ! 

I  am  more  angry  'with  myself  than  him 
That,  spite  his  falsehood  to  his  marriage  vows, 
And  spite  my  hate.  I  lore  the  traitor  still. 
I  love  him  not  ?    WLy  am  I  here  to-nigL:  — 
Here   •where    my  girlhood's  withered  hopes   are 


Through  every  room  for  Lim  to  trample  on  — 
Bat  in  my  pride  to  show  him  to  you  all, 
"With  the  dear  child  that  publishes  a  lore 
That  blessed  me  once,  e'en  if  it  curse  me  now 
You  know  I  do  my  husband  wrong  !    Ton  tlii 
Because  he  can  talk  smoothly,  and  befool 
A  simple  ear  with  pious  sophistries, 


110  BITTER-SWEET. 

He  must  be  e'en  the  saintly  man  he  seems. 

We  heard  him  talk  to-night  ;  it  was  done  well. 

I  saw  the  triumph  of  his  argument, 

And  I  was  proud,  though  full  of  spite  the  while. 

His  stuff  was  meant  for  me  ;  and,  with  intent, 

For  selfish  purpose,  or  in  irony, 

He  tossed  me  bitterness,  and  called  it  sweet. 

My  heart  rebelled,  and  now  you  know  the  cause 

Of  my  harsh  words  to  him. 

MARY. 

:Tis  very  sad  ! 

Oh  very — very  sad  !     Pray  you  go  on  1 
Who  is  this  woman  ? 

GEACE. 

I  have  never  learned. 

I  only  know  she  stole  my  husband's  heart, 
And  made  me  very  wretched.  I  suppose 
That  at  the  time  my  little  babe  was  born, 


BITTER-SWEET.  HI 

She  went  away  !  for  David  was  at  home 
For  many  days.     That  pain  was  bliss  to  me — 
I  need  no  argument  to  teach  me  that — 
Which  caused  neglect  of  her,  and  gave  offence. 
Since  then,  he  has  not  where  to  go  from  me  ; 
And,  loving  well  his  child,  he  stays  at  home. 

So  he  lugs  round  his  secret,  and  I  mine. 

I  call  him,  husband  ;  and  he  calls  me,  wife  ~, 

And  I,  who  once  was  like  an  April  day, 

That  finds  quick  tears  in  every  cloud,  have  steeled 

My  heart  against  my  fate,  and  now  am  calm. 

I  will  live  on  ;  and  though  these  simple  folk 

Who  call  me  sister  understand  me  not, 

It  matters  little.     There  is  one  who  does  ; 

And  he  shall  have  no  liberty  of  love 

By  any  word  of  mine.     'Tis  woman's  lot, 

And  man's  most  weak  and  wicked  wantonness. 

Mine  is  like  other  husbands,  I  suppose  ; 

No  worse — no  better. 


112  BITTER-SWEET. 

MAEY. 

Ask  you  sympathy 
Of  such  as  I  ?     I  cannot  give  it  you, 
For  you  have  shut  me  from  the  privilege. 

GRACE. 

I  asked  it  once  ;  you  gave  me  unbelief. 
I  had  no  choice  but  to  grow  hard  again. 
'Tis  my  misfortune  and  my  misery 
That  every  hand  whose  friendly  ministry 
My  poor  heart  craves,  is  held — withheld — by  him  , 
And  I  must  freeze  that  I  may  stand  alone. 

MARY. 

And  so,  because  one  man  is  false,  or  you 
Imagine  him  to  be,  all  men  are  false  ; 
Do  I  speak  rightly  ? 

GRACE. 

Have  it  your  own  way. 
Men  fit  to  love,  and  fitted  to  be  loved, 


BITTER-SWEET.  113 

Are  prone  to  falsehood.     I  will  not  gainsay 
The  common  virtue  of  the  common  herd. 
I  prize  it  as  I  do  the  goodish  men 
Who  hold  the  goodish  stuff,  and  know  it  not. 
These  serve  to  fill  an  easy-going  world, 
And  that  to  clothe  it  with  complacency. 

MAKY. 

I  had  not  thought  misanthropy  like  this 
Could  lodge  with  yon  ;  so  I  must  e'en  confess 
A  tale  which  never  paosed  my  lips  before, 
Nor  sent  its  flush  to  any  cheek  but  mine. 
In  this,  I'U  prove  my  frieiidalup,  if  I  lose 
The  friendship  which  demands  the  sacrifice. 

1  have  come  back,  a  worse  than  wiciowed  wife  ; 
Yet  I  went  out  with  dream  as  bright  as  yours, — 
Nay,  brighter, — for  the  birds  were  singing  then, 
And  apple-blossoms  drifted  on  the  ground 
Where  snow-flakes  fell  and  flew  when  you  were  wed, 


114  BITTER-SWEET. 

The  skies  were  soft ;  the  roses  budded  full ; 

The  meads  and  swelling  uplands  fresh  and  green  ;- 

The  very  atmosphere  was  full  of  love. 

It  was  no  girlish  carelessness  of  heart 

That  kept  my  eyes  from  tears,  as  I  went  forth 

From  this  dear  shelter  of  the  orphan  child. 

I  felt  that  God  was  smiling  on  my  lot, 

And  made  the  airs  his  angels  to  convey 

To  eveiy  sense  and  sensibility 

The  message  of  his  favor.     Every  sound 

Was  music  to  me  ;  every  sight  was  peace  ; 

And  breathing  was  the  drinking  of  perfume. 

I  said,  content,  and  full  of  gratitude, 

"  This  is  as  God  would  have  it ;  and  he  speaks 

These  pleasant  languages  to  tell  me  so." 

But  I  had  no  such  honeymoon  as  yours. 
A  few  brief  days  of  happiness,  and  then 

I 

The  dream  was  over.     I  had  married  one 
Who  was  the  sport  of  vagi-ant  impulses. 


BITTER-SWEET.  115 

We  had  not  been  a  fortnight  wed,  when  he 
Canie  home  to  me  with  brandy  in  his  brain — 
A  maudlin  fool — for  love  like  mine  to  hide 
As  if  he  were  an  unclean  beast.     O  Grace  ! 
I  cannot  paint  the  horrors  of  that  night. 
My  heart,  till  then  serene,  and  safely  kept 
In  Trust's  strong  citadel,  quaked  all  night  long, 
As  tower  and  bastion  fell  before  the  rush 
Of  fierce  convictions  ;  and  the  tumbling  walls 
Boomed  with  dull  throbs  of  ruin  through  my  brain. 
And  there  were  palaces  that  leaned  on  this — 
Castles  of  air,  in  long  and  glittering  lines, 
Which  melted  into  air,  and  pierced  the  blue 
That  marks  the  star-strewn  vault  of  heaven  ; — all  fell 
With  a  fahit  crash  like  that  which  scares  the  soul 
When  desolation  shivers  through  a  dream 
Smitten  by  nightmare, — fell  and  faded  all 
To  utter  nothingness  ;  and  when  the  morn 
Flamed  up  the  East,  and  with  its  crimson  wings 
Brushed  out  the  paling  stars  that  all  the  night 


HO  BITTER-SWEET. 

In  silent,  slow  procession,  one  by  one, 
Had  gazed  upon  me  through  the  open  sash, 
And  passed  along,  it  found  rue  desolate. 

The  stupid  dreamer  at  my  side  awoke, 
And  with  such  helpless  anguish  as  they  feel 
Who  know  that  they  are  weak  as  well  as  vile. 
I  saw,  through  all  his  forward  promises, 
Excuses,  prayers,  and  pledges  that  were  oaths, 
(What  he,  poor  boaster,  thought  I  could  not  see,} 
That  he  was  shorn  of  will,  and  that  his  heart 
Was  as  defenceless  as  a  little  child's  ; — 
That  underneath  his  fair  good  fellowship 
He  was  debauched,  and  dead  in  love  with  sin  ; — 
That  love  of  me  had  made  him  what  I  loved, — 
That  I  could  only  hold  him  till  the  wave 
Of  some  o'erwhelming  impulse  should  sweep  iu, 
To  lift  his  feet  and  bear  him  from  my  arms. 
I  felt  that  morn,  when  he  went  trembling  forth, 
With  bloodshot  eyes  and  forehead  hot  with  woe. 


BITTER-SWEET.  117 

That  thenceforth  strife  would  be  'twixt  Hell  and 

me — 
The  odds  against  me — for  my  husband's  soul. 

GKACE. 

Poor  dove!    Poor  Mary!    Have  you  suffered  thus  I 
You  had  not  even  pride  to  keep  you  up. 
Were  he  my  husband,  I  had  left  him  then — 
The  ingrate  ! 

MAEY. 

Not  if  yon  had  loved  as  I ; 
Yet  what  you  know  is  but  a  bitter  drop 
Of  the  full  cup  of  gaU  that  I  have  drained. 
Had  he  left  me  unstained, — had  1  rebelled 
Against  the  influence  by  which  he  sought 
To  bring  me  to  a  compromise  with  him, — 
To  make  my  shrinking  soul  meet  his  half  way, — 
It  had  been  better  ;  but  he  had  an  art, 
When  appetite  or  passion  moved  in  him, 
That  clothed  his  sins  with  fair  apologies, 


118  BITTER-SWEET. 

And  smoothed  the  wrinkles  of  a  haggard  guilt 

With  the  good-uatured  hand  of  charity. 

He  knew  he  was  a  fool,  he  said,  and  said  again  ; 

Bnt  human  nature  would  be  what  it  was, 

And  life  had  never  zest  enough  to  bear 

Too  much  dilution ;  those  who  worked  like  slaves 

Must  have  their  days  of  frolic  and  of  fun. 

He  doubted  whether  God  would  punish  sin  ; 

God  was,  in  fact,  too  good  to  punish  sin  ; 

For  sin  itself  was  a  compounded  tiling-, 

With  weakness  for  its  prime  ingredient. 

And  thus  he  fooled  a  heart  that  loved  him  well ; 

And  it  went  toward  lus  heart  by  slow  degrees, 

Till  Virtue  seemed  a  frigid  anchorite, 

And  Vice,  a  jolly  fellow — bad  enough, 

But  not  so  bad  as  Christian  people  think. 

This  was  the  cunning  work  of  months — nay,  years  ; 
And,  meantime,  Edward  sank  from  bad  to  worse. 
But  he  had  conquered.     Wine  was  on  his  board, 


—  \VlNK    WAS  ON  HIS    BOAltl) 

WITHOUT  MY  PROTEST— WITH  A  GLASS  ron  ME  ! 


BITTER-SWEET.  119 

Without  iny  protest — with  a  glass  for  me  ! 
His  boon  companions  came  and  went,  and  made 
My  home  their  rendezvous  with  my  consent. 
The  doughty  oath  that  shocked  my  ears  at  first, 
The  doubtful  jest  that  meant,  or  might  not  mean, 
That  which  should  set  a  woman's  brow  aflame, 
Became  at  last  (oh,  shame  of  womanhood  !) 
A  thing  to  frown  at  with  a  covert  smile  ; 
A  thing  to  smile  at  with  a  decent  frown  ; 
A  thing  to  steal  a  grace  from,  as  I  feigned 
The  innocence  of  deaf  unconsciousness. 
And  I  became  a  jester.     I  could  jest 
In  a  wild  way  on  sacred  things  and  themes ; 
And  I  have  thought  that  in  his  better  moods 
My  husband  shrank  with  horror  from  the  work 
Which  he  had  wrought  in  me. 

I  do  not  know 

If,  during  all  these  downward-tending  years, 
Edward  kept  well  his  faith  with  me.     I  know 


120  BITTER-SWEET. 

He  used  to  tell  me,  in  his  boastful  way, 
How  lie  liad  broke  the  hearts  of  pretty  maids. 
And  that  if  he  were  single — well-a-day  ! 
The  time  was  past  for  thinking  upon  that ! 
And  I  had  heart  to  toss  the  badinage 
Back  in  his  teeth,  with,  pay  of  kindred  coin ; 
And  tell  him  lies  to  stir  his  bestial  mirth  ; 
And  make  my  boast  of  conquests  :  and  pretend 
That  the  true  heart  I  had  bestowed  on  him 
Had  flown,  and  left  him  but  an  empty  hand. 

I  had  some  days  of  pain  and  penitence. 
I  saw  where  all  must  end.     I  saw,  too  well, 
Edward  was  growing  idle, — that  his  form 
"Was  gathering  disgustful  corpulence, — 
That  he  was  going  down,  and  dragging  me 
To  shame  and  ruin,  beggary  and  death. 
But  judgment  came  and  overshadowed  us  ; 
And  one  quick  bolt,  shot  from  the  awful  cloud, 
Severed  the  tie  that  bound  two  worthless  lives. 


BITTER-SWEET.  121 

What  God  hath  joined  together,  God  may  part  :— 
Grace,  have  you  thought  of  that  ? 

GKACE. 

You  scare  me,  Mary  ! 

Nay  !    Do  not  tiirn  on  me  with  such  a  look  ! 
Its  dread  suggestion  gives  my  heart  a  pang 
That  stops  its  painful  beating. 

MAHY. 

Let  it  pass  ! 

One  mom  we  woke  with  the  first  flush  of  light, 
Our  windows  jarring  with  the  cannonade 
That  ushered  in  the  nation's  festal  day. 
The  village  streets  were  full  of  men  and  boys, 
And  resonant  with  rattling  mimicry 
Of  the  black-throated  monsters  on  the  hill,— 
A  crashing,  crepitating  war  of  fire, — 
And  as  we  listened  to  the  fitful  feud, 
Dull  detonations  came  from  far  away, 


122  BITTER-SWEET. 

Pulsing  along  the  fretted  atmosphere, 

To  tell  that  in  the  ruder  -villages 

The  day  had  noisy  greeting,  as  in  ours. 

I  know  not  why  it  was,  but  then,  and  there, 

I  felt  a  sinking  sadness,  passing  tears — 

A  dark  foreboding  I  could  not  dissolve 

Nor  drive  away.     But  when,  next  morn,  I  woke 

In  the  sweet  stillness  of  the  Sabbath  day, 

And  found  myself  alone,  I  knew  that  hearts 

Which  once  have  been  God's  temple,  and  in  which 

Something  divine  still  lingers,  feel  the  throb 

Along  the  lines  that  bind  them  to  The  Throne 

When  judgment  issues;  and,  though   dumb  and 

bund, 

Shudder  and  faint  with  prophecies  of  ill. 
HOAV — by  what  cause — calamity  should  come, 
I  could  not  guess;  that  it  was  imminent, 
Seemed  just  as  certain  as  the  morning's  dawn. 

We  were  to  have  a  gala  day,  indeed. 


BITTER  SWEET.  123 

There  were  to  be  processions  and  parades, 

A  great  oration  in  a  mammoth  tent, 

Y\7ith  dinner  following,  and  toast  and  speech 

By  all  the  wordy    mag-nates  of  the  town  ; 

A  grand  balloon  ascension  afterwards  ; 

And  in  the  evening,  fireworks  on  the  hill. 

I  knew  that  drink  would  flow  from  rnorn  till  night 

In  a  wild  maelstrom,  circling  slow  around 

The  village  rim,  in  bright  careering  waves, 

But  growing  turbulent,  and  changed  to  ink 

Around  the  village  centre,  till,  at  last, 

The  whirling,  gurgling  vortex  would  engulf 

A  maddened  multitude  in  drunkenness. 

And  this  was  in  my  thought  (the  while  my  heart 
Was  palpitating  with  its  nameless  fear), 
As,  -wrapped  in  vaguest  dreams,  and  purposeless, 
I  laced  my  shoe  and  gazed  upon  the  sky. 
Then  strange  determination  stirred  in  me ; 
And,  turning  sharply  on  my  chair,  I  said, 
"Edward,  where'er  you  go  to-day,  I  go!  " 


124  BITTER-SWEET. 

If  I  had  smitten  liim  upon  the  face, 

It  had  not  tingled  with  a  hotter  flame. 

He  turned  upon  me  with  a  look  of  hate — 

A  something  worse  than  anger — and,  with  oaths, 

llaved  like  a  fiend,  and  cursed  me  for  a  fool. 

But  I  was  firm  ;  he  could  not  shake  my  will ; 

So,  through  the  morning,  until  afternoon, 

He  stayed  at  home,  and  drank  and  drank  again, 

Watching  the  clock,  and  pacing  up  and  down, 

Until,  at  length,  he  came  and  sat  by  me, 

To  try  his  hackneyed  tricks  of  blandishment. 

He  had  not  meant,  he  said,  to  give  offence  ; 

But  women  in  a  crowd  were  out  of  place. 

He  wished  to  see  the  aeronauts  embark, 

And  meet  some  friends ;   but  there  would  boa 

throng 

Of  boys  and  drunken  boors  around  the  car, 
And  I  should  not  enjoy  it ;  more  than  this, 
The  rise  would  be  a  finer  spectacle 
A.t  home  than  on  t3ie  ground.      I  gave  assent, 


B1TTEE-SWEET.  125 

And  lie  went  out.     Of  course,  I  followed  him  ; 
For  I  had  learned  to  read  him,  and  I  knew 
There  was  some  precious  scheme  of  sin  on  foot. 

The  crowd  was  heavy,  and  his  form  was  lost 
Quick  as  it  touched  the  mass  ;  but  I  pressed  on, 
Wild  shouts  and  laughter  punishing  my  ears, 
Till  I  could  see  the  bloated,  breathing  cone, 
As  if  it  were  some  monster  of  the  sky 
Caught  by  a  net  and  fastened  to  the  earth — 
A  butt  for  jeers  to  all  the  merry  mob. 
But  I  was  distant  still ;  and  if  a  man 
In  mad  impatience  tore  a  passage  from 
The  crowd  that  pressed  upon  him,  or  a  girl, 
Frightened  or  fainting,  was  allowed  escape, 
I  slid  like  water  to  the  vacant  space, 
And  thus,  by  deftly  won  advances,  gained 
The  stand  I  coveted. 

"We  waited  long ; 
And  as  the  curious  gazeis  stood  and  talked 


126  BITTER-SWEET. 

About  the  diverse  currents  of  the  air, 
And  wondered  where  the  daring  voyagers 
Would  find  a  landing-place,  a  young  man  said, 
In  words  intended  for  a  spicy  jest, 
A  man  and  woman  living  in  the  town 
Had  taken  passage  overland  for  hell ! 

Then  at  a  distance  rose  a  scattering  shout 

That  fixed  the  vision  of  the  multitude, 

Standing  on  eager  tiptoe,  and  afar 

I  saw  the  crowd  give  way,  and  make  a  path 

For  the  pale  heroes  of  the  crazy  hour. 

Hats  were  tossed  wildly  as  they  struggled  on, 

And  the  gap  closed  behind  them,  till,  at  length, 

They  stood  within  the  ring.     Oh,  damning  sight 

The  woman  was  a  painted  courtesan  ; 

The  man,  my  husband  !     I  was  dumb  as  death. 

My  teeth  were  clenched  together  like  a  vice, 

And  every  heavy  heart-throb  was  achilL 

"But  there  I  stood,  and  saw  the  shame  go  on 


BITTER-SWEET.  127 

They  took  their  seats,  the  signal  gun  was  fired  ; 
The  cords  were  loosed,  and  then  the  billowy  bulk 
Shot  toward  the  zenith  ! 

Never  bent  the  sky 

With  more  cloudless  depth  of  blue  than  then  ; 
And,  as  they  rose,  I  saw  his  faithless  arm 
Slide  o'er  her  shoulder,  and  her  dizzy  head 
Drop  on  his  breast.     Then  I  became  insane. 
I  felt  that  I  was  struggling  with  a  dream — 
A  horrid  phantasm  I  could  not  shake  off. 
The  hollow  sky  was  swinging  like  a  bell ; 
The  silken  monster  swinging  like  its  tongue ; 
And  as  it  reeled  from  side  to  side,  the  roar 
Of  voices  round  me  rang,  and  rang  again, 
Tolling  the  dreadful  knell  of  my  despair. 

At  the  last  moment  I  could  trace  his  form, 
Edward  leaned  over  from  his  giddy  scat, 
And  tossed  out  something  on  tho  air.     I  saw 


128  BITTER-SWEET. 

The  little  missive  fluttering  slowly  down, 
And  stretched  nay  hand  to  catch  it,  for  I  knew, 
Or  thought  I  knew,  that  it  would  come  to  me. 

And  it  did  come  to  me — as  if  it  slid 
i 

Upon  the  cord  that  bound  my  heart  to  his — 
Strained  to  its  utmost  tension — snapped  at  last. 
I  marked  it  as  it  fell.     It  was  a  rose. 
I  grasped  it  madly  as  it  struck  my  hand, 
And  buried  all  its  thorns  within  my  palm  ; 
But  the  fierce  pain  released  my  prisoned  voice, 
And  with  a  shriek,  I  staggered,  swooned,  and  fell. 

That  night  was  brushed  from  life.    A  passing  friend 

Directed  those  who  bore  me  rudely  off  ; 

And  I  was  carried  to  my  home,  and  laid 

Entranced  upon  my  bed.     The  Sabbath  morn 

That  followed  all  this  din  and  devilry 

Swung  noiseless  wide  its  doors  of  yellow  light, 

And  in  the  hallowed  stillness  I  awoke. 

My  heart  was  still ;  I  could  not  stir  a  hand. 


BITTER-SWEET.  129 

I  thought  that  1  was  dying  or  was  dead, — 

That  I  had  slipped  through  smooth  unconsciousness 

Into  the  everlasting  silences. 

I  could  not  speak  ;  but  winning  strength  at  last, 

I  turned  my  eyes  to  seek  for  Edward's  face, 

And  saw  an  impressed  pillow.     He  was  gone  ! 

I  was  oppressed  with  aAvful  sense  of  loss  ; 

And  as  a  mother,  by  a  turbid  sea 

That  has  ingulfed  her  fairest  child,  sits  down 

And  moans  over  the  waters,  and  looks  out 

With  curious  despair  upon  the  waves, 

Until  she  marks  a  lock  of  floating  hair, 

And  by  its  threads  of  gold  draws  slowly  in, 

And  clasps  and  presses  to  her  frenzied  breast 

The  form  it  has  no  power  to  warm  again, 

So  I,  beside  the  sea  of  memory, 

Lay  feebly  moaning,  yearning  for  a  clew 

By  which  to  reach  my  qwn  extinguished  life. 

It  came.     A  burning  pain  shot  through  my  palm, 


130  BITTER-SWEET. 

And  tliorns  awoke  what  thorns  had  put  to  sleep. 
It  all  came  back  to  me — the  roar,  the  rush, 
The  upturned  faces,  the  insane  hurrahs, 

The  skyward  shooting  spectacle,  the  shame 

And  then  I  swooned  again. 

GEACE. 

But  was  he  killed  ? 

Did  his  foolhardy  adventure  end  in  wreck  ? 
Or  did  it  end  in  something  woi*se  than  wreck  ? 
Surely,  he  came  again  ! 

MARY. 

To  me,  no  more. 

He  had  his  reasons,  and  I  knew  them  soon; 
Hut,  first,  the  fire  enkindled  in  my  brain 
Burnt  through  long  weeks  of  fever — burnt  my  frame 
Until  it  lay  upon  the  sheet  as  white 
As  the  pale  ashes  of  a  wasted  coal. 
Then,  when  strength  came  to  me,  and  I  could  sit 


BITTER-SWEET.  131 

Braced  by  the  double  pillows  that  were  mine, 
A  kind  friend  topk  my  hand  and  told  me  all. 

The  day  that  Edward  loft  me  was  the  last 

He  could  have  been  my  husband  ;  for  the  next 

Disclosed  his  infamy  and  my  disgrace. 

He  was  a  thief,  and  had  been  one  for  years, — 

Defrauding  those  whose  gold  he  held  in  trust ; 

And  lie  was  ruined — ruined  utterly. 

Tlie  very  bed  I  sat  on  was  not  liis, 

Nor  mine,  except  by  tender  charity. 

A  guilty  secret  menacing  behind, 

A  guilty  passion  burning  in  his  heart, 

And  by  his  side,  a  guilty  paramour, 

He  seized  upon  this  reckless  whim,  and  fled 

From  those  he  knew  would  curse  him  ere  he  sJept 

^ 

My  cup  was  filled  with  wormwood  ;  and  it  grew 
Bitter  and  still  more  bitter,  day  by  day, 
Changing  from  shame  and  hate,  to  stem  revengo 
Life  had  no  more  for  me.     My  home  was  lost ; 


132  BITTER-SWEET. 

My  heart  unfitted  to  return  to  this^ ; 

And,  reckless  of  the  future,  I  went,  forth — 

A  woman  stricken,  maddened,  desperate. 

I  sought  the  city  with  as  sure  a  scent 

As  vultures  track  a  carcass  through  the  air. 

I  knew  him  there  delivered  up  to  sin, 

And  longed  to  taunt  him  with  his  infamy, — 

To  haunt  his  haunts  ;  to  sting  his  perjured  soul 

With  sharp  reproaches  ;  and  to  scare  his  eyes 

With  visions  of  his  work  upon  my  face. 

But  God  had  other  means  than  my  revengo 
To  humble  him,  and  other  thought  for  me.    • 
I  saw  him  only  once  ;  we  did  not  meet ; 
There  was  a  street  between  us  ;  yet  it  seemed 
Wide  as  theunbridged  gulf  that  yawns  betwesai 
The  rich  man  and  the  beggar. 

'Twos  at  dawn. 
I  had  arisen  from  the  sleepless  bed 


•       BITTER  SWEET.  133 

Which  my  scant  means  had  purchased,  and  gone 

forth 

To  taste  the  air,  and  cool  my  burning  brow. 
I  wandered  on,  not  knowing  where  I  went, 
Nor  caring  whither.     There  were  few  astir  ; 
The  market  wagons  lumbered  slowly  in, 
Piled  high  with  carcasses  of  slaughtered  lambs, 
Baskets  of  unhusked  corn,  and  mint,  and  all 
The  fresh,  green  things  that  grow  in  country  fields. 
I  read  the  signs — the  long  and  curious  names-  - 
And  wondered  who  invented  them,  and  if 
Their  owners  knew  how  very  strange  they  were. 
A  corps  of  Aveary  firemen  met  me  once, 
Late  home  from  service,  with  their  gaudy  car, 
And  loud  with  careless  curses.     Then  I  stopped, 
And  chatted  with  a  frowsy-headed  girl 
Who  knelt  among  her  draggled  skirts,  and  scrubbed 
The  heel-worn  door-steps  of  a  faded  house. 
'  Then,  as  I  left  her,  and  resumed  my  walk, 
I  turned  my  eyes  across  the  street,  and  saw 


184  BITTER-SWEET. 

A  sight  which  stopped  my  feet,  iny  breath,  my  heart. 
It  was  my  husband     Oh,  how  sadly  changed  ! 
His  bloodshot  eyes  stared  from  an  anxious  face  ; 
His  hat  was  battered,  and  his  clothes  were  torn 
And  splashed  with  mud.     His  poisoned  frame 
Had  shrunk  away,  until  his  garments  hung 
In  folds  about  him.     Then  I  knew  it  all ; 
His  life  had  been  a  measureless  debauch 
Since  his  most  shameless  flight ;  and  in  his  eye, 
Eager  and  strained,  and  peering  down  the  stairs 
That  tumbled  to  the  ante-rooms  of  hell, 
I  saw  the  thirst  which  only  death  can  quench. 
He  did  not  raise  his  eyes  ;  I  did  not  speak  ; 
There  was  no  work  for  me  to  do  on  him  ! 
And  when,  at  last,  he  tottered  down  the  steps 
Of  a  dark  gin-shop,  I  was  satisfied, 
And  half-relentingly  retraced  my  way. 

I  cannot  tell  the  stoiy  of  the  months 

That  followed  this.     I  toiled  and  toiled  for  bread, 


BITTER-SWEET.  135 

And  for  the  shelter  of  one  stingy  room. 
Temptation,  which  the  hand  of  poverty 
Bears  oft  seductively  to  woman's  lips, 
To  me  came  not.     I  hated  men  like  beasts  ; 
Their  flattering  words,  and  wicked,  wanton  leers, 
Sickened  me  with  ineffable  disgust. 

At  length  there  came  a  change.      One  warm  Spring 

eve, 

As  I  sat  idly  dreaming  of  the  past, 
And  questioning  the  future,  my  quick  ear 
Caught  sound  of  feet  upon  the  creaking  stairs, 
And  a  light  rap  delivered  at  my  door. 
I  said,  "  Come  in  !"  with  half  defiant  voice, 
Although  I  louged  to  see  a  human  face, 
And  needed  labor  for  my  idle  hands. 
But  when  the  door  was  opened,  and  there  stood 
A  man  before  me,  with  an  eye  as  pure 
And  brow  as  fair  as  any  little  child's, 
Matched  with  a  form  and  carriage  which  combined 


136  BITTER-SWEET. 

All  manly  beauty,  dignity,  and  grace, 

A  quick  blush  overwhelmed  rny  pallid  cheeks, 

And,  ere  I  knew,  and  by  no  act  of  will, 

I  rose  and  gave  him  gentle  courtesy. 

He  took  a  seat,  and  spoke  with  pleasant  voice 
Of  many  pleasant  things — the  pleasant  sky, 
The  stars,  the  opening  foliage  in  the  park  ; 
And  then  he  came  to  business.     He  would  have 
A  piece  of  exquisite  embroidery  ; 
My  hand  was  cunning  if  report  were  true  ; 
Would  it  oblige  him  ?    It  would  do,  I  said, 
That  which  it  could  to  satisfy  his  wish  ; 
And  when  he  took  the  delicate  pattern  out, 
And  spread  the  dainty  fabric  on  his  knees, 
I  knew  he  had  a  wife. 

He  went  away 
i 
With  kind  "  Good  night,"  and  said  that  with  my 

leave, 


AND    ERE  I  KNEW,  AND  BY  NO  ACT  OP    WILL, 
I  ROSE  AND  GAVE  HIM  GENTLE  COURTESY. 


BITTER-SWEET.  13? 

He'd  call  and  watch  the  progress  of  the  work. 
I  marked  his  careful  steps  adown  the  stairs, 
And  then,  his  brisk,  firm  tread  upon  the  stones, 
Till  in  the  dull  roar  of  the  distant  streets 
It  mingled  and  was  lost.     Then  1  was  lost — 
Lost  in  a  wild,  wide-ranging  reverie — 
From  which  I  roused  not  till  the  midnight  hush 
Was  broken  by  the  toll  from  twenty  towers. 

This  is  a  man,  I  said — a  man  in  truth  ; 
My  room  has  known  the  presence  of  a  man, 
And  it  has  gathered  dignity  from  him. 
I  felt  my  being  flooded  with  new  life. 
My  heart  was  warm  ;  my  poor,  sore-footed  thoughts 
Sprang  up  full  fledged  through  ether  ;  and  I  felt 
Like  the  sick  woman  who  had  touched  the  hem 
Of  Jesus'  garment,  when  through  all  her  veins 
Leaped  the  swift  tides  of  youth. 

He  had  a  wife  ! 
Why,  to  a  wrecked,  forsaken  thing  like  me 


133  BITTER-SWEET. 

Did  that  thought  bring  a  pang  ?    I  did  not  know ; 

But  truth  to  tell,  it  gave  me  stinging  pain. 

If  he  was  noble,  he  was  naught  to  me  ; 

If  he  was  great,  it  only  made  me  less  ; 

If  he  loved  truly,  I  was  not  enriched. 

So,  in  my  selfishness,  I  almost  cursed 

The   unknown   woman,  thought    for   whom   had 

broiight 

Her  loving  husband  to  me.     "What  was  I 
To  him  ?     Naught  but  a  poor  unfortunate, 
Picking  her  bread  up  at  a  needle's  point. 
He'll  come  and  criticise  my  handiwork, 
I  said,  and  when  it  is  at  last  complete, 
He'll  draw  his  purse  and  give  me  so  much  gold  ; 
And  then,  forgetting  me  for  ever,  go 
And  gather  fragrant  kisses  for  the  boon, 
From  lips  that  do  not  know  their  privilege. 
I  could  bo  nothing  but  the  medium 
Through  which  his  love  should  pass  to  reach  its 

shrine ; 


BITTER-SWEET.  139 

Tlxe  glass  through  which  the  sun's  electric  beams 

Kindles  the  rose's  heart,  and  still  remains 

Chill  and  serene  itself — without  reward  ! 

Then  came  to  me  the  thought  of  my  great  wrong. 

A  man  had  spoiled  my  heart,  degraded  me  ; 

A  wanton  woman  had  defrauded  me  ; 

I  would  get  reparation  how  I  could  ! 

He  must  be  something  to  me — I  to  him  ! 

All  men,  however  good,  are  weak,  I  thought : 

And  if  I  can  arrest  no  beam  of  love 

By  right  of  nature  or  by  leave  of  law, 

I'll  stain  the  glass  !    And  the  last  words  I  said, 

As  I  lay  down  upon  my  bed  to  dream, 

Were  those  four  words  of  sin  :  "I'll  stain  the  glass  !" 

GRACE. 

Mary,  I  cannot  hear  you  more  ;  your  tale, 
So  bitter  and  so  passing  pitiful 
T  have  forgotten  tears,  and  feel  my  eyes 
Bum  dry  and  hot  with  looking  at  your  face, 
Now  gathers  blackness,  and  grows  horrible. 


140  BITTER-SWEET. 

MAKY. 

Nay,  you  must  hear  me  out ;  I  cannot  pause  ; 
And  have  no  worse  to  say  than  I  have  said — 
Thank  God,  and  him  who  put  away  my  toils  ! 

He  came,  and  came  again  ;  and  every  charm 
God  had  bestowed  on  me,  or  art  could  frame, 
I  used  with  keenest  ingenuities 
To  fascinate  the  sensuous  element 
O'er  which,  mistrusted,  and  but  half  asleep, 
His  conscience  and  propriety  stood  guard. 
I  told  with  tears  the  story  of  my  woe  ; 
He  listened  to  me  with  a  thoughtful  face, 
And  sadly  sighed  ;  and  thus  I  won  his  mth. 
And  then  I  told  him  how  my  life  was  lost ; — 
How  earth  had  nothing  more  for  me  but  pain  ; 
Not  e'en  a  friend.     At  this,  he  took  my  hand, 
And  said  o-ut  of  his  nobleness  of  heart, 
That  I  should  have  an  honest  friend  in  him  ; 
On  which  I  bowed  my  head  upon  liis  arm. 


BITTER-SWEET.  141 

And  wept  again,  as  if  my  heart  -would  break 
With  the  full  pressure  of  its  gratitude. 
He  put  me  gently  oft',  and  read  my  face  : 
I  stood  before  him  hopeless,  helpless,  his  ! 
His  swift  soul  gathered  what  I  meant  it  should. 
He  sighed  and  trembled  ;  then  he  crossed  the  floor 
And  gazed  with  eye  abstracted  on  the  sky  ; 
Then  came  and  looked  at  me  ;  then  turned, 
As  if  affrighted  at  his  springing  thoughts, 
And,  with  abruptest  movement,  left  the  room. 

This  time  he  took  with  him  the  broidered  thing 

That  I  had  wrought  for  him  ;  and  when  I  oped 

The  little  purse  that  he  rewarded  me, 

I  found  full  golden  payment  five  times  told. 

Given  from  pity  ?  thought  I, — that  alone  ? 

Is  manly  pity  so  munificent  ? 

Pity  has  mixtures  that  it  knows  not  of  ! 

It  was  a  cruel  triumph,  and  I  speak 


143  BITTER-SWEET. 

Of  it  with,  utter  penitence  and  shame. 

I  knew  that  he  would  come  again  ;  I  knew 

His  feet  would  bring  him,  though  his  soul  reb  elled  ; 

I  knew  that  cheated  heart  of  his  would  toy 

With  the  seductive  chains  that  gave  it  thrall, 

And  strive  to  reconcile  its  perjury 

With  its  own  conscience  of  the  better  way 

By  fabrication  of  apologies 

It  knew  were  false. 

And  he  did  come  again  ; 
Confessing  a  strange  interest  in  me, 
And  doing  for  me  many  kindly  deeds. 

I  knew  the  nature  of  the  sympathy 

\ 

That  drew  him  to  my  side,  better  than  he  ; 
Though  I  could  see  that  solemn  change  in  him 
Which  every  face  will  wear,  when  Heaven  and  He]' 
Are  struggling  in  the  heart  for  mastery. 
He  was  unhappy  ;  every  sudden  sound 
Startled  his  apprehensions  ;  from  his  heart 


BITTER-SWEET,  143 

liose  heavy  suspirations,  charged  with  prayer, 
Desire,  and  deprecation,  and  remorse  ; — 
Siglis  like  volcanic  breathings — sighs  that  scorched 
His  parching  lips  and  spread  his  face  with  ashes, — 
Sighs  born  in  such  convulsions  of  the  soul 
That  his  strong  frame  quaked  like  Vesuvius, 
Burdened  with  restless  lava. 

Day  by  day 

I  marked  his  dalliance  with  sinful  thought, 

Without  a  throb  of  pity  in  my  heart. 

I  took  his  gifts,  which  brought  immunity 

From  toil  and  care,  as  if  they  were  my  right. 

Day  after  day  I  saw  my  power  increase, 

Until  that  noble  spirit  was  a  slave — 

A  craven,  helpless,  self -suspected  slave. 

But  this  was  not  to  last — thank  God  and  him  ! 
One  night  he  came,  and  there  had  been  a  change. 
My  hand  was  kindly  taken,  but  not  held 


144  BITTER-SWEET. 

In  the  way  wonted.     He  was  self-possessed; 

The  powers  of  darkness  and  his  Christian  heart 

Had  had  a  struggle — his  the  victory  ; 

And  DTI  his  manly  brow  the  benison 

Of  a  majestic  peace  had  been  imposed. 

Was  I  to  lose  the  guerdon  of  my  guile? 

He  was  my  all,  and  by  the  only  means 

Left  to  a  helpless,  reckless  thing,  like  me. 

My  heart  made  pledge  the  strife  should  be  renewed , 

I  took  no  notice  of  his  altered  mood, 

But  strove,  by  all  the  tricks  of  tenderness, 

To  fan  to  life  again  the  drooping  flame 

Within  his  heart; — with  what  success,  at  last, 

The  sequel  shall  reveal. 

Strange  fire  came  down 
Responsive  to  my  call,  and  the  quick  flash 
That  shrivelled  resolution,  vanquished  will, 
And  with  a  blood-red  flame  consumed  the  crown 
Of  peace  upon  his  brow,  taught  him  how  weak— 


BITTER-SWEET.  145 

How  miserably  imbecile — lie  had  become, 
Tampering  with  temptation.     Such  a  groan, 
Wrung  from  such  agony,  as  then  he  breathed, 
Pray  Heaven  my  ears  may  never  hear  again! 
He  smote  his  forehead  with  his  rigid  palm, 
And  sank,  as  if  the  blow  had  stunned  him,  to  his 

inees, 

And  there,  with  face  pressed  hard  upon  his  hands, 
Gave  utterance  to  frenzied  sobs  and  prayers — 
The  wild  articulations  of  despair. 
I  was  confounded.     He — a  man — thought  I, 
Blind  with  remorse  by  simple  look  at  sin! 
And  I — a  woman — in  the  devil's  hands, 
Luring  him  Hell  ward  with  no  blush  of  shame! 
The  thought  came  swift  from  God,  and  pierced  my 

heart 

Like  a  barbed  arrow;  and  it  quivered  there 
Through  whiles  of  tumult — quivered — and  was  fast. 

Thus,  while  I  stood  and  marked  his  kneeling  form, 


146  BITTER-  S  WEET. 

Still  shocked  by  deep  convulsions,  such  a  light 
Illumed  my  soul,  and  flooded  all  the  room, 
That,  without  thought,  I  said,  "The  Lord  is  here !" 
Then  straight  my  spirit  heard  these  wondrous  words: 

"  Tempted  in  all  points  like  ourselves  was  He — 

» 
Tempted,  but  sinless."     Oh,  what  majesty 

Of  meaning  did  those  precious  words  convey ! 
'Twas  through   temptation,    thought  I,    that   the 

Lord — 

The  mediator  between  God  and  men — 
Beached  down  the  hand  of  sympathetic  love 
To  meet  the  grasp  of  lost  Humanity  ; 
And  this  man,  kneeling,  has  the  Lord  in  him, 
And  comes  to  mediate  'twixt  Christ  and  me, 
"  Tempted  but  sinless  ;" — one  hand  grasping  mine, 
The  other  Christ's. 

Why  had  he  suffered  thus  ? 
Why  had  his  heart  been  led  far  down  to  inmo, 
To  beat  in  sinful  sympathy  with  mine, 


-TEMPTED  IN    ALL   POINTS  LIKE   OUKSELVES  WAS  HE- 
TEMPTED  BUT  SINLESS." 


BITTER-SWEET.  14? 

But  that  my  heart  should  cling  to  his  and  him, 

And  follow  his  withdrawal  to  the  heights 

From  whence  he  had  descended  ?    Then  I  learned  • 

Why  Christ  was  tempted  ;  and,  as  broad  and  full, 

The  heart  of  the  great  secret  was  revealed, 

And  I  perceived  God's  dealings  with  my  soil!, 

I  knelt  beside  the  tortured  man  and  wept, 

And  cried  to  Heaven  for  mercy.     As  I  prayed, 

My  soul  cast  off  its  shameful  enterprise  ; 

And  w1  .ell,  I  saw  my  godless  self — 

My  own  degraded,  tainted,  guilty  heart, 

Which  it  had  hidden  from  me.     Oh,  the  pang — 

The  poignant  throe  of  uttermost  despair — 

That  followed  tltb  discovery  !     I  felt 

That  I  was  lost  beyond  the  grace  of  God, 

And  my  heart  turned  with  instinct  sure  and  swift 

To  the  strong  struggler,  praying  at  my  side, 

And  begged  his  succor  and  his  prayers.     I  felt 

That  he  must  lead  me  up  to  where  the  hand 

Of  Jesus  could  lay  hold  on  me,  or  I  was  doomed. 


148  BITTER-SWEET. 

Temptation's  spell  was  past.     He  took  my  hand, 

And,  as  he  prayed  that  we  might  be  forgiven, 

And  pledged  our  future  loyalty  to  God 

And  his  white  throne  within  our  hearts,  I  gave 

Responses  to  each  promise  ;  then  I  crowned. 

His  closing  utterance  with  such  Arnen 

As  weak  hearts,  conscious  of  their  weakness,  give 

When,  bowed  to  dust  and  clinging  to  the  robes 

Of  outraged  mercy,  they  devote  themselves 

Once  and  forever  to  the  pitying  Christ. 

Then  we  arose  and  stood  upon  our  feet. 

He  gave  me  no  reproaches,  but  with  voice 

Attempered  to  his  altered  mood,  Confessed 

His  own  blameworthiness,  and  pressed  the  prayer 

That  I  would  pardon  him,  as  he  believed 

That  God  had  pardoned  ;  but  my  heart  was  full,— 

So  full  of  its  sore  sense  of  wrong  to  him, 

Of  the  deep  guilt  of  shameful  purposes 

And  treachery  to  worthy  womanhood, 


BITTER-SWEET.  149 

That  I  could  not  repeat  his  Christian  words, 
Asking  forbearance  on  my  own  behalf. 

He  sat  before  me  for  a  golden  hour  ; 

And  gave  me  counsel  and  encouragement, 

Till,  like  broad  gates,  the  possibilities 

Of  a  screner  and  a  higher  life 

Were  thrown  wide  open  to  my  eager  feet, 

And  I  resolved  that  I  would  enter  in, 

And,  with  God's  gracious  help,  go  no  more  out. 

For  weeks  he  watched  me  with  stern  carefulness, 
Nourished  my  resolution,  prayed  with  me, 
And  led  me,  step  by  step,  to  higher  ground, 
Till,  gathering  impulse  in  the  upward  walk, 
And  strength  in  purer  air,  and  keener  sight 
In  the  sweet  light  that  dawned  upon  my  soul, 

I  grasped  the  arm  of  Jesus,  and  was  safe. 

^ 
And  now,  when  I  look  back  upon  my  life, 

It  seems  as  if  that  noble  man  were  sent 


1HO  BITTER-SWEET. 

To  give  me  rescue  from  the  pit  of  death. 

But  from  his  distant  height  he  could  not  reach 

And  act  upon  my  soul ;  so  Heaven  allowed 

Temptation's  ladder  'twixt  his  soul  and  mine, 

That  they  might  meet  and  yield  his  mission  thrift 

I  doubt  not  in  my  grateful  soul  to-night 

That  had  he  stayed  within  his  higher  world, 

And  tried  to  call  me  to  him,  I  had  spurned 

Alike  his  mission  and  his  ministry. 

That  he  was  tempted,  was  at  once  my  sin 

And  my  salvation.     That  he  sinned  in  thought, 

And  fiercely  wrestled  with  temptation,  won 

For  his  own  spirit  that  humility 

Which  God  had  sought  to  clothe  him  with  in  vain, 

By  other  measures,  and  that  strength  which  springs 

From  a  great  conflict  and  a  victory. 

We  talked  of  this  ;  and  on  our  bended  knees 

We  blessed  the  Great  Dispenser  for  the  means 

v 
By  which  we  both  had  learned  our  sinful  selves. 

And  found  the  way  to  a  diviner  life. 


HITTER-SWEET.  15] 

So,  with  my  chastened  heart  and  life,  I  come 
Back  to  my  home,  to  live — perhaps  to  die. 
God's  love  has  been  in  all  this  discipline  ; 
God's  love  has  used  those  awful  sins  of  mine 
To  make  rue  good  and  happy.     I  can  mourn 
Over  my  husband ;  I  can  pray  for  him, 
Nay,  I  forgive  him  ;  for  I  know  the  power 
With  which  temptation  comes  to  stronger  men. 
I  know  the  power  with  which  it  came  to  me. 

And  now,  dear  Grace,  my  stoiy  is  complete. 
You  have  received  it  with  dumb  wonderment, 
And  it  has  been  too  long.     Tell  me  what  thought 
Stirs  in  your  face,  and  waits  for  utterance. 

GRACE. 

That  I  have  suffered  little— trusted  less  ; 
That  I  have  failed  in  charity,  and  been 
Unjust  to  all  men — specially  to  one. 
1  did  not  think  there'lived  a  man  on  earth 


152  BITTER-SWEET. 

Who  had  such  virtue  as  this  friend  of  yours, — 

Weak,  and  yet  strong.     Twere  but  humanity 

To  give  him  pity  in  his  awful  strife  ; 

To  stint  the  meed  of  reverence  and  praise 

For  his  triumphant  conquest  of  himself, 

Were  infamy.     I  love  and  honor  him  ; 

And  if  I  knew  my  husband  were  as  strong, 

I  could  fall  down  before,  and  worship  him  ; 

I  could  fall  down,  and  wet  his  feet  with  tears — 

Tears  penitential  for  the  grievous  wrong 

That  I  have  done  him.     But  alas  !  alas  ! 

The  thought  comes  back  again.     O  God  in  Heaven 

Help  me  with  patience  to  await  the  hour 

When  the  great  purpose  of  Thy  discipline 

Shall  be  revealed,  and,  like  this  chastened  one, 

I  can  behold  it,  and  be  satisfied. 

MAItY. 

Hark  !    They  are  calling  us  below,  I  think. 


BITTER-SWEET.  153 

We  must  go  down.     We'll  talk  of  this  again 
When  we  have  leisure.     Kiss  the  little  one, 
And  thank  his  weary  braiu  it  sleeps  so  well. 

\Tliey  descend. 


SEC  OND  EPIS  ODE. 


LOCALITY— The  Kitchen. 
PRESENT — JOSEPU,  S.VMUEL,  REBEKAH,  and  otter  CHILDHEN. 


THE  QUESTION  ILLUSTRATED  BY  STORY. 

JOSEPH. 

Have  we  not  had  "Button-Button"  enough, 
And  "Forfeits,"  and  all  such  silly  stuff  ? 

SAMUEL. 

Well,  we  were  playing  "Blind-Man's-Buff" 
Until  you  fell,  and  rose  in  a  huff, 


156  BITTER-SWEET. 

And  declared  the  game  was  too  rude  and  rough, 
Poor  boy  !    What  a  pity  he  isn't  tough  ! 


Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  what  a  pretty  boy  ! 
Papa's  delight,  and  mamma's  joy  ! 
Wouldn't  he  like  to  go  to  bed, 
And  have  a  cabbage-leaf  on  his  head  ? 

JOSEPH. 

Laugh,  if  you  like  to  !    Laugh  till  you're  grey  ; 

But  I  guess  you'd  laugh  another  way 

If  you'd  hit  your  toe,  and  fallen  like  me, 

And  cut  a  bloody  gash  in  your  knee, 

And  bumped  your  nose  and  bruised  your  shin, 

Tumbled  over  the  rolling-pin 

That  rolled  to  the  floor  in  the  awful  din 

That  followed  the  fall  of  the  row  of  tin 

That  stood  upon  the  dresser. 


BITTER-SWEET.  151 

SAMUEL. 

Guess  again — dear  little  guesser  ! 
You  wouldn't  catch  this  boy  lopping  his  wing, 
Or  whining  over  anything. 
Sc  stir  your  stumps, 
Forget  your  buinps, 
Get  out  of  your  dumps, 
And  up  and  at  it  again  ; 
For  the  clock  is  striking  ten, 
And  Ruth  will  come  pretty  soon  and  say 
"Go  to  your  beds 

You  sleepy  heads  !" 
So — quick  !    What  shall  we  play  ? 

REBEKAH. 

I  wouldn't  play  any  more, 
i 
For  Joseph  is  tired  and  sore 

With  his  fall  upon  the  floor. 


153  BITTER-SWEET. 

ALL. 

Then  he  shall  tell  a  story. 


JOSEPH. 

About  old  Mother  Move? 


No  !    Tell  us  another. 

JOSEPH. 

About  my  brother  ? 

REBEKAH. 

\ 

Now,  Joseph,  you  shall  be  good, 

And  do  as  you'd  be  done  by  ; 

We  didn't  mean  to  be  rude 

When  you  fell  and  began  to  cry  ; 

We  wanted  to  make  you  forget  your  pain  ; 

But  it  frets  you,  and  we'll  not  laugh  again. 


BITTER-SWEET.  150 


JOSEPH. 

Well,  if  you'll  all  sit  still, 
And  not  be  frisking  aboitt, 
Nor  utter  a  whisper  till 
You've  heard  my  story  out, 
I'll  tell  you  a  tale  as  weird 
As  ever  you  heard  in  your  lives, 
Of  a  man  -with  a  long  blue  beard, 
And  the  way  he  treated  his  wives. 

ALL. 

Oh,  that  will  be  nice  ! 
We'll  be  still  as  mice. 


[Relates  the  old  story  ofHlue  Beard,  and  DAVID  and  RUTH  entej 
from  the  cellar  unperceived. 

Centuries  since  there  flourished  a  man, 
(A  cruel  old  Tartar  as  rich  as  the  Khan,) 


3  60  B1TTER-S  WEET. 

"Whose  castle  was  built  on  a  splendid  plan, 

With  gardens  and  groves  and  plantations  ; 
But  his  shaggy  beard  was  as  blue  as  the,  sky, 
And  he  lived  alone,  for  his  neighbors  were  shy, 
And  had  heard  hard  stories,  by  the  by, 

About  his  domestic  relations. 

Just  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  plain 

A  widow  abode,  with  her  daughters  twain  ; 

And  one  of  them — neither  cross  nor  vain — 

Was  a  beautiful  little  treasure  ; 
So  he  sent  them  an  invitation  to  tea, 
And  having  a  natural  wish  to  see 
His  wonderful  castle  and  gardens,  all  three 

Said  they'd  do  themselves  the  pleasure. 

As  soon  as  there  happened  a  pleasant  day, 
They  dressed  themselves  in  a  sumptuous  way, 
And  rode  to  the  castle  as  proud  and  gay 
As  silks  and  jewels  could  make  them' ; 


BITTER-SWEET.  161 

And  they  •were  received  in  the  finest  style, 
And  saw  everything  that  was  worth  their  while, 
In  the  halls  of  Blue  Beard's  grand  old  pile, 
Where  he  was  so  kind  as  to  take  them. 

The  ladies  were  all  enchanted  quite  ; 
For  they  found  old  Blue  Beard  so  polite 
That  they  did  not  suffer  at  all  from  fright, 

And  frequently  called  thereafter ; 
Then,  he  offered  to  marry  the  younger  one, 
And  as  she  was  willing  the  thing  was  done, 
And  celebrated  by  all  the  ton 

"With  feasting  and  with  laughter. 

As  kind  a  husband  as  ever  was  seen 

Was  Blue  Beard  then,  for  a  month,  I  ween  ; 

And  she  was  as  proud  as  any  queen, 

And  as  happy  as  she  could  be,  too  ; 
But  her  husband  called  her  to  him  one  day, 
And  said,  "  My  dear,  I  am  going  away  ; 


1C2  BITTER-SWEET. 

It  will  not  be  long  that  I  shall  stay  ; 
There  is  business  for  me  to  see  to. 

"  The  keys  of  my  castle  I  leave  with  you  : 

But  if  you  value  my  love,  be  true, 

And  forbear  to  enter  the  Chamber  of  Blue  ! 

Farewell,  Fatirna  !    Kemeniber  !" 
Fatima  promised  him  ;  then  she  ran 
To  visit  the  rooms  with  her  sister  Ann  ; 
But  when  she  had  finished  the  tour,  she  began 

To  think  about  the  Blue  Chamber. 

Well,  the  woman  was  curiously  inclined, 
•So  she  left  her  sister  and  prudence  behind, 
(With  a  little  excuse)  and  started  to  find 

The  mystery  forbidden. 

She  paused  at  the  door  ; — all  was  still  as  night ! 
She  opened  it ;  then  through  the  dim  blue  light 
There  blistered  her  vision  the  horrible  sight, 

That  was  in  that  chamber  hidden. 


BITTER-SWEET.  103 

The  room  was  gloomy  and  damp  and  wide, 
Aud  the  floor  was  red  with  the  bloody  tide 
From  headless  women,  laid  side  by  side, 

The  wives  of  her  lord  and  master  ! 
Frightened  and  fainting,  she  dropped  the  key, 
But  seized  it  and  lifted  it  quickly  ;  then  she 
Hurried  as  swiftly  as  she  could  flee 

From  the  scene  of  the  disaster. 

She  tried  to  forget  the  terrible  dead, 

But  shrieked  when  she  saw  that  the  key  was  red, 

And  sickened  and  shook  with  an  awful  dread 

When  she  heard  Blue  Beard  was  coming. 
He  did  not  appear  to  notice  her  pain  ; 
But  he  took  his  keys,  and  seeing  the  stain, 
lie  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  refrain 

That  he  had  been  quietly  humming. 

"  Mighty  well,  madam  F'  said  he,  "  mighty  well  1 

What  does  this  little  blood-stain  tell  ? 

You've  broken  your  promise  ;  prepare  to  dwell 


164  BITTER-SWEET. 

Witli  the  wives  I've  had  before  you  ! 
You've  broken  your  promise,  and  you  shall  die." 
Then  Fatuna,  supposing  her  death  was  nigh, 
Fell  on  her  knees  and  began  to  cry, 

"  Have  mercy,  I  implore  you  !" 

"No  !"  shouted  Blue  Beard,  drawing  his  sword  ; 
"You  shall  die  this  very  minute,"  he  roared. 
"Grant  me  time  to  prepare  to  meet  my  Lord," 

The  terrified  woman  entreated. 
"  Only  ten  minutes,"  he  roared  again  ; 
And  holding  his  watch  by  its  great  gold  chain, 
He  marked  on  the  dial  the  fatal  ten. 

And  retired  till  they  were  completed. 

"  Sister,  oh  sister,  fly  up  to  the  tower  ! 
Look  for  release  from  this  murderer's  power  I 
Our  brothers  should  be  here  this  very  hour  ; 

Speak  !     Does  there  come  assistance  !" 
"  JSo  :  I  see  nothing  but  sheep  on  the  hill." 
"Look  again,  sister  !':     "I'm  looking  still, 


BITTER-SWEET.  165 

But  naught  can  I  see,  whether  good  or  ill, 
Save  a  flurry  of  dust  in  the  distance." 

"Time's  up!"   shouted  Blue  Beard,  out  from  hia 

room ; 

"This  moment  shall  witness  your  terrible  doom, 
Aoid  give  you  a  dwelling  within  the  room 

Whose  secrets  you  have  invaded." 
11  Conies  there  no  help  for  my  terrible  need  ?" 
"There   are   horsemen  twain  riding   hither   with 

speed." 
"  Oh  !  tell  them  to  ride  very  fast  indeed, 

Or  I  must  meet  death  unaided. " 

"Time's  fully  up!    Now  have   done  with    your 

prayer," 
Shouted  Blue  Beard,  swinging  his  sword  on  the 

stair  ; 
Then  he  entered,  and  grasped  her  beautiful  hair, 

Swung  his  glittering  weapon  around  him  ; 
But  a  loud  knock  rang  at  the  castle  gate, 


166  BITTER-SWEET. 

And  Fatirna  was  saved  from  her  horrible  fate. 
For  shocked  -with  surprise,  he  paused  too  late  ; 
And  then  the  two  soldiers  found  him. 

They  were  her  brothers,  and  quick  as  they  knew 
What  the  fiend  was  doing,  their  swords  they  drew, 
And  attacked  him  fiercely,  and  ran  him  through, 

So  that  soon  he  was  mortally  wounded. 
With  a  wild  remorse  was  his  conscience  filled 
When  he  thought  of  the  hapless  wives  he  had  killed ; 
But  quickly  the  last  of  his  blood  was  spilled, 

And  his  dying  groan  was  sounded. 

As  soon  as  Fatima  recovered  from  fright, 

She  embraced  her  brothers  with  great  delight ; 

And  they  were  as  glad  and  as  grateful  quite 

As  she  was  glad  and  grateful. 
Then  they  all  went  out  from  that  scene  of  pain, 
,  And  sought  in  quietude  to  regain 
Their  minds,  which  had  come  to  be  quite  insane, 
In  a  place  so  horrid  and  hateful 


BITTER  SWEET.  KW 

'Twas  a  private  funeral  Blue  Beard  had  ; 

For  the  people  knew  he  was  very  bad, 

And,  though  they  said  nothing,  they  all  were  glad 

For  the  fall  of  the  evil-doer ; 
But  Fatirna  first  ordered  some  graves  to  be  made, 
And  there  the  unfortunate  ladies  were  laid, 
And  after  some  painful  months,  with  the  aid 

Of  her  friends,  her  spirits  came  to  her. 

Then  she  cheered  the  hearts  of  the  suffering  poor, 
And  an  acre  of  land  around  each  door, 
And  a  cow  and  a  couple  of  sheep,  or  more, 

To  her  tenantry  she  granted. 
So  ah1  of  them  had  enough  to  eat, 
And  their  love  for  her  was  so  complete 
They  w*ould  kiss  the  dust  from  her  little  feet, 

Or  do  anything  she  wanted. 

SAMUEL. 
Capital*!     Capital!     Wasn't  it  good  1 


108  BITTER-SWEET. 

I  should  like  to  have  been  her  brother  ; 

And  if  I  had  been,  you  may  guess  there  would 

Have  been  little  work  for  the  other. 

I'd  have  run  him  right  through  the  heart,  just  so ! 

And  cut  off  his  head  at  a  single  blow, 

And  killed  him  so  quickly  he'd  never  know 

What  it  was  that  struck  him,  wouldn't  I  Joe  ? 

JOSEPH. 

You  are  very  brave  with  your  bragging  tongue  ; 
But  if  you  had  been  there,  you'd  have  sung 

A  very  different  tune. 

Poor  Blue  Beard  !    He  would  have  been  afraid 
Of  a  little  boy  with  a  penknife  blade, 

Or  a  tiny  pewter  spoon  ! 

SA.MUEL. 

It  makes  no  difference  what  you  say 
(Pretty  h'ttle  boy,  afraid  to  play!) 


BITTER-SWEET.  100 

But  it  served  him  rightly  any  way. 

And  gave  him  just  his  due. 
And  wasn't  it  good  that  his  little  wife 
Should  live  in  his  castle  the  rest  of  her  lif  e, 

And  have  all  his  money  too  ? 

• 

KEBEKAH. 

I'm  thinking  of  the  ladies  who 
Were  lying  in  the  Chamber  Blue, 
With  all  their  small  necks  cut  in  two. 

I  see  them  lying,  half  a  score, 

In  a  long  row  upon  the  floor, 

Their  cold,  white  bosoms  marked  with  gora 

I  know  the  sweet  Fatima  would 
Have  put  their  heads  on  if  she  could  ; 
And  made  them  live — she  was  so  good ; 


170  BITTER-SWEET. 

And  washed  their  faces  at  the  sink  ; 
But  Blue  Beard  was  not  sane,  I  think  ; 
I  wonder  if  he  did  not  drink  ! 

For  no  man  in  his  proper  mind 
Would  be  so  cruelly  inclined 
As  to  kill  ladies  who  were  kind. 

EUTH. 

[Stepping  forward  with 

Story  and  comment  alike  are  bad  ; 
These  little  follows  are  raving  mad 

With  thinking  what  they  should  do, 
Supposing  their  sunny-eyed  sister  had 
Given  her  heart — and  her  head — to  a  lad 
Like  the  man  with  the  Beard  of  Blue. 
Each  little  jacket 
Is  now  a  packet 

Of  murderous  thoughts  and  fancies  ; 
Oh,  the  gentle  trade 
By  which  fiends  are  made 


JBIT^ER-BWEET.  171 

With  the  ready  aid 

Of  these  bloody  old  romances  ! 
And  the  little  girl  takes  the  woman's  turn, 
And  thinks  that  the  old  curmudgeon 
Who  owned  a  castle,  and  rolled  in  gold 
Over  fields  and  gardens  manifold, 
And  kept  in  his  house  a  family  tomb, 
Wif:v  his  bowling  course  and  his  billiard-room, 
Wl  sre  he  could  preserve  his  precious  dead, 
WJ  >  took  the  kiss  of  the  bridal  bed 
Fr  m  one  who  straightway  took  their  head, 
A)  i  threw  it  away  with  the  pair  of  gloves 
In  which  he  wedded  his  hapless  loves, 

Had  some  excuse  for  his  dudgeon. 

DAVID. 

We  learn  by  contrast  to  admire 
The  beauty  that  enchains  us  ; 
And  know  the  object  of  desire 
By  that  which  pains  us. 


172  BITTER-SWEET. 

The  roses  blushing  at  the  door, 

The  lapse  of  leafy  June, 
The  singing  birds,  the  sunny  shore, 
The  summer  moon  : — 

All  these  entrance  the  eye  or  ear 

By  innate  grace  and  charm  ; 
But  o'er  them  reaching  through  the  year 
.  Hangs  Winter's  arm, 

To  give  to  memory  the  sign, 

The  index  of  our  bliss, 
And  show  by  contrast  how  divine 
The  summer  is. 

From  chilling  blasts  and  stormy  skiea 

Bare  hills  and  icy  streams, 
Touched  into  fairest  life  arise 
Our  summer  dreams. 


SITTER-SWEET.  173 

And  virtue  never  seems  so  fair 

As  when  we  lift  our  gaze 
From  the  red  eyes  and  bloody  hair 
That  vice  displays. 

We  are  too  low, — our  eyes  too  dark 

Love's  height  to  estimate, 
Save  as  we  note  the  sunken  mark 
Of  brutal  Hate. 

So  this  ensanguined  tale  shall  move 

Aright  each  little  dreamer, 
And  Blue  Beard  teach  them  how  to  love 
The  sweet  Fatima. 

They  hate  his  crimes,  and  it  is  well ; 

They  pity  those  who  died ; 
Their  sense  of  justice  when  he  fell 
Was  satisfied. 


174  BITTER-SWEET. 

No  fierce  revenges  are  the  fruit 

Of  their  just  indignation  ; 
They  sit  in  judgment  on  the  brute, 
And  condemnation  ; 

And  turn  to  her,  his  rescued  wife, 
Her  deeds  so  kind  and  human  ; 
And  love  the  beauty  of  her  life, 
And  bless  the  woman. 

KXJTH. 

That  is  the  -way  I  suppose  you  would  twist  it ; 
And  now  that  the  boys  are  disposed  of, 
And  the  moral  so  handsomely  closed  off, 
What  do  you  say  of  the  girl  ?    That  she  missed  it 
When  she  thought  of  old  Blue  Beard  as  some  do  of 

Judas, 

Who  with  this  notion  essay  to  delude  us : 
That  when  he  relen-ted, 
And  fiercely  repented, 


SITTER-SWEET.  175 


He  was  hardly  so  bad 

As  lie  commonly  had 

The  fortune  to  be  represented  ? 


The  noblest  pity  in  the  earth 

Is  that  bestowed  on  sin. 
The  Great  Salvation  had  its  birth 
That  ruth  within. 

The  girl  is  nearest  God,  in  fact ; 

The  boy  gives  crime  its  due  ; 
She  blames  the  author  of  the  act, 
And  pities  too. 

Thus,  from  this  strange  excess  of  wrong, 

Her  tender  heart  has  caught 
The  noblest  truth,  the  sweetest  song, 
The  Saviour  taught 


176  BITTER-SWEET. 

So,  more  tlian  measured  homily, 
Of  sage,  or  priest,  or  preacher, 
Es  this  wild  tale  of  cruelty 

Love's  gentle  teacher. 

It  tells  of  sin,  its  deep  remorse. 

Its  fitting  recompense, 
And  vindicates  the  tardy  course 
Of  Providence. 

These  boyish  bosoms  are  on  fire 

With  chivah'ic  possession, 
And  burn  with  just  and  manly  ire 
Against  oppression. 

The  glory  and  the  grace  of  life, 

And  love's  surpassing  sweetness, 

Rise  from  the  monster  to  the  wife 

In  high  completeness ; 


BITTER  SWEET.  177 

And  thence  look  down  with  mercy's  eye 

On  sin's  accurst  abuses, 
And  seek  to  wrest  from  charity 
Some  fair  excuses. 


KTJTH. 

These  greedy  mouths  are  watering 
For  the  fruit  within  the  basket ; 
And  although  they  will  not  ask  it, 
Their  jack-knives  all  are  burning 
And  their  eager  hands  are  yearning 

For  the  peeling  and  the  quartering. 
So  let  us  have  done  with  our  talk  ; 
For  they  are  too  tired  to  say  their  prayers, 
And  the  time  is  come  they  should  walk 
From  the  story  below  to  the  story  up  stairs. 


THIRD    MOVEMENT. 


DRAMATIC, 


THE    THIRD    MOVEMENT. 

LOCALITY—  The  Kitchen. 
PRESENT— DAVID,  RUTH,  JOHN,  PETEK,  PBUDENCE  and  PATIENCE. 


THE  QUESTION  ILLUSTRATED  BY  THE 
DENOUEMENT. 


JOHN. 

Since  the  old  gentleman  retired  to  bed, 
Tilings  have  gone  strangely.  David,  here,  and  Ruth, 
Have  wasted  thirty  minutes  underground 
In  explorations.     One  would  think  the  house 
Covered  the  entrance  of  the  Mammoth  Cave, 
And  they  had  lost  themselves.     Mary  and  Grace 


182  BITTER-SWEET. 

Still  hold  tlieir  chamber  and  their  conference, 

And  pour  into  each  other's  greedy  ears 

Their  stream  of  talk,  whose  low,  monotonous  hum, 

Would  lull  to  slumber  any  storm  but  this. 

The  children  are  play-tired  and  gone  to  bed  ; 

And  one  may  know  by  looking  round  the  room 

Their  place  of  sport  was  here.     And  we,  plain  folk, 

Who  have  no  gift  of  speech,  especially 

On  themes  which  we  and  none  may  understand, 

Have  yawned  and  nodded  in  the  great  square  room, 

And  wondered  if  the  parted  family 

Would  ever  meet  again. 


KUTH. 

John,  do  you  see 

The  apples  and  the  cider  on  the  hearth  ? 
If  I  remember  rightly,  you  discuss 
Such  themes  as  these  with  noticeable  zest 
And  pleasant  tokens  of  intelligence  ; 


BITTER-SWEET.  183 

Rather  preferring  scanty  company 

To  the  full  circle.     So,  sir,  take  the  lead, 

And  help  yourself. 

JOHN. 

Aye  !     That  I  will,  and  give 
Your  welcome  invitation  currency, 
In  the  old-fashioned  way.  Come  !  Help  yourselves  ! 

DAVID, 

[Looking  out  of  the  window. 

The  ground  is  thick  with  sleet,  and  still  it  falls  ! 
The  atmosphere  is  plunging  like  the  sea 
Against  the  woods,  and  pouring  on  the  night 
The  roar  of  breakers,  while  the  blinding  spray 
O'erleaps  the  barrier,  and  comes  drifting  on 
In  hues  as  level  as  the  window-bars. 
What  curious  visions,  in  a  night  like  this, 
Will  the  eye  conjure  from  the  rocks  and  treesu 
And  zigzag  fences  !    I  was  almost  sure 


184  BITTER-SWEET. 

I  saw  a  man  staggering  along  the  road 
A  moment  since  ;  but  instantly  the  shape 
Dropped  from  my  sight.     Hark  !    Was  not  that  a 

call — 

A  human  voice  ?    There's  a  conspiracy 
Between  my  eyes  and  ears  to  play  me  tricks, 
Else  wanders  there  abroad  some  hapless  soul 
Who  needs  assistance.     There  he  stands  again, 
And  with  unsteady  essay  strives  to  breast 
The  tempest.     Hush  !    Did  you  not  hear  that  cry  ? 
Quick,  brothers  !     We  must  out,  and  give  our  aid. 
None  but  a  dying  and  despairing  man 
Ever  gave  utterance  to  a  cry  like  that. 
Nay,  wait  for  nothing.     Follow  me  ! 

KUTH. 

Alas! 

Who  can  he  be,  who  on  a  night  like  this, 
And  on  this  night,  of  all  nights  in  the  year, 
Holds  to  the  highway,  homeless  ? 


BITTER-SWEET.  185 

PRUDENCE. 

Probably 

Some  neighbor  stat  ted  from  his  home  in  quest 
Of  a  physician  ;  or,  more  likely  still, 
Some  poor  inebriate,  sadly  overcome 
By  his  sad  keeping  of  the  holiday. 
I  hope  they'll  give  him  quarters  in  the  barn ; 
If  he  sleep  here,  there'll  be  no  sleep  for  me. 

PATIENCE. 

I'll  not  believe  it  was  a  man  at  all ; 
Dawd  and  Kuth  are  always  seeing  things 

•* 

That  no  one  else  sees. 

KUTH. 

I  see  plainly  now 

What  we  shall  all  see  plainly,  soon  enough. 
The  man  is  dead,  and  they  are  bearing  him 
As  if  he  were  a  log.  Quick !  Stir  the  fire, 


1SG  BITTER-SWEET. 

And  clear  the  settle  !     We  must  lay  him  there. 

I  will  bring  cordials,  and  flannel  stuffe 

With  which  to  chafe  him  ;  open  wide  the  door. 

[The  men  enter,  bearing  a  body  apparently  lifeless,  which  they  lay 
upon  iJie  settle. 

DAVID. 

Now  do  my  bidding,  orderly  and  swift  ;  _ 

And  we  may  save  from  death  a  fellow  man. 

Peter,  relieve  him  of  those  frozen  shoes, 

And  wrap  his  feet  in  flannel.     This  way,  Ruth  1 

Administer  that  cordial  yourself. 

John,  you  are  strong,  and  that  rough  hand  of  y o'urs 

Will  chafe  him  well.     Work  with  a  will,  I  say  ! 

•*  *  *  *  *  * 

My  hand  is  on  his  heart,  and  I  can  feel 
Both  warmth  and  motion.     If  we  persevere, 
He  will  be  saved.     Work  with  a  will,  I  say  ! 

****** 
A  groan  ?    Ha  !     That  is  good.     Another  groan  ? 
Better  and  better  ! 


BITTER-SWEET.  187 

BUTH. 

It  is  down  at  last ! — - 
A.  spoonful  of  the  cordial.     His  breath 
Conies  feebly,  but  is  warm  upon  my  hand. 


Give  him  brisk  treatment,  and  persistent,  too  ; 
And  we  shall  be  rewarded  presently, 
For  there  is  life  in  him. 

****** 

He  moves  his  lips 
And  tries  to  speak. 

*    "        *  *  *  *  * 

And  now  he  opens  his  eyes. 
What  eyes  !     How  wandering  and  wild  they  are  ! 

[To  lite  stranger. 

We  are  your  friends.  We  found  you  overcome 
By  the  cold  storm  without,  and  brought  you  in. 
We  are  your  friends,  I  say  ;  so  be  at  ease, 


188  BITTER-SWEET. 

And  let  us  do  according  to  your  need. 
What  is  your  wish  ? 

STKANGER. 

My  friends  ?    O  God  in  Heaven  1 
They've  cheated  me  !    I'm  in  the  hospital. 
Oh,  it  was  cruel  to  deceive  me  thus  ! 
No,  you  are  not  my  friends.     What  bitter  pain 
Backs  my  poor  body  ! 


Poor  man,  how  he  raves  !  • 
Let  us  be  silent  while  the  warmth  and  wine 
Provoke  his  sluggish  blood  to  steady  flow, 
And  each  dead  sense  conies  back  to  life  again, 
O'er  the  same  path  of  torture  which  it  trod 
When  it  went  out  from  him.     He'll  slumber  soon, 
And,  when  he  wakens,  we  may  talk  with  him. 


BITTER-SWEET.  189 

PRUDENCE. 

[So  tie  voce. 

Sliall  I  not  call  the  family  ?    I  tliiuk 
Mary  and  Grace  must  both  be  very  cold  ; 
And  they  know  nothing  of  this  strange  affair. 
I'll  wait  them  at  the  landing,  and  secure 
Their  silent  entrance. 

DAVID. 

If  it  please   you — well. 

[PRUDENCE  retires,  and  returns  with  GRACE  and  MABY. 
MAKT. 

Why  !    We  heard  nothing  of  it — Grace  and  I  :— 
What  a  cadaverous  hand  !    How  blue  and  thin  ! 

DAVID. 

At  his  first  wild  awaking  he  bemoaned 
His  fancied  durance  in  a  hospital ; 


1 90  BITTER  S  WEET. 

And  since  lie  spoke  so  strangely,  I  have  thought 
He  may  have  fled  a  mad-house.     Matters  not  ! 
We've  done  our  duty,  and  preserved  his  life. 


Shall  I  disturb  him  if  I  look  at  him  ? 
I'm  strangely  curious  to  see  his  face. 

DAVID. 

Go.     Move  you  carefully,  and  bring  us  word 
Whether  he  sleeps. 

[ilABY  rises,  goes  to  the  settle,  and  sinks  back  fainting. 

Why  !    What  ails  the  girl  ? 
I  thought  her  nerves  were  iron.     Dash  her  brow 
And  bathe  her  temples  1 

MABT. 

There — there, — that  will  do 
'Tia  over  now. 


BITTER-SWEET.  101 

DAVID. 

The  man  is  speaking.     Hush  1 

STRANGER. 

Oh,  -tthat  a  heavenly  dream. !    But  it  is  past, 
Like  all  my  heavenly  dreams,  for  never  more 
Shall  dream  entrance  me.     Death  has  never  dreaniH, 
But  everlasting  wakefulness.     The  eye 
Of  the  quick  spirit  that  has  dropped  the  flesh 

May  close  no  more  in  slumber. 

#•**** 

I  must  die  ! 

This  painless  spell  which  binds  my  weary  limbs — 
This  peace  ineffable  of  soul  and  sense — 
Is  dissolution's  herald,  and  gives  note 
That  life  is  conquered  and  the  struggle  o'er. 
But  I  had  heped  to  see  her  ere  I  died  ; 
To  kneel  for  pardon,  and  implore  one  kiss, 
Pledge  to  my  soul  that  in  the  coming  heaven 
We  should  not  meet  as  strangers,  but  rejoin 


1 92  BITTER-  S  WEET. 

Our  hearts  and  lives  so  madly  sundered  here, 
Through  fault  and  freak  of  mine.     But  it  is  well  ; 
God's  will  be  done  ! 

****** 

I  dreamed  that  I  had  reached 
The  old  red  farm-house, — that  I  saw  the  light 
Flaming  as  brightly  as  in  other  times 
It  flushed  the  kitchen  windows ;  and  that  forms 
Were  sliding  to  and  fro  in  joyous  life, 
Restless  to  give  me  welcome.     Then  I  dreamed 
Of  the  dear  woman  who  went  out  with  mo 
One  sweet  spring  morning,  in  her  own  sweot  spring 

To wretchedness  and  ruin  !    Oh,  forgive — 

Dear,  pitying  Christ,  forgive  this  cruel  wrong, 
And  let  me  die  !     Oh,  let  me — let  me  die  ! 
Mary  !  my  Mary  !     Could  you  only  know 
How  I  have  suffered  since  1  fled  from  you, — 
How  I  have  son-owed  through  long  months  of  pain, 
And  prayed  for  pardon, — you  would  pardon  me. 


BITTER-SWEET.  193 

DAVED. 

[Sotto  wee, 

Mary,  what  means  this  ?    Does  he  dream  alone, 
Or  are  we  dreaming  ? 

ALLEY. 

Edward,  I  am  here! 

I  am  your  Mary  !    Know  you  not  my  face  '{ 
My  husband,  speak  to  me  !     Oh,  speak  once  more  ! 
This  is  no  dream,  but  kind  reality. 

EDWAKD. 

[Raising  himself,  and  looking  wildly  around, 
You,  Mary  ?     Is  this  heaven,  and  am  I  dead  ? 
I  did  not  know  you  died  :  when  did  you  die  ? 
Aaid  John  and  Peter,  Grace  and  little  Buth 
Grown  to  a  woman  ;  are  they  ail  with  you  ? 
:Tis  very  strange  !     O  pity  me,  my  friends  ! 
For  God  has  pitied  me,  and  pardoned,  too  : 


1 94  B1TTER-S  WEET. 

Else  I  should  not  be  here.     Nay,  you  seem  cold, 

And  look  on  me  with  sad  severity. 

Have  you  no  pardoning  word — no  smile  for  me  ? 

MAET.. 

This  is  not  Heaven's  but  Earth's  reality  ; 
This  is  the  farm-house — these  your  wife  and  friends. 
I  hold  your  hand,  and  I  forgive  you  all. 
Pray  you  recline  !    You  are  not  strong  enough 
To  bear  this  yet. 

EDWARD. 

[Sinking  back. 

O  toning  heart !     O  sick  and  sinking  heart  ! 

Give  me  one  hour  of  service,  ere  I  die  ! 

This  is  no  dream.     This  hand  is  precious  flesh, 

And  I  am  here  where  I  have  prayed  to  be. 

My    God,  I  thank  thee !     Thou  hast  heard    my 

prayer 

And,  in  its  answer,  given  me  a  pledge 
Of  the  acceptance  of  my  penitence. 


BITTER-SWEET.  195 

How  liave  I  yearned  for  this  one  priceless  hour  ! 
Cling  to  me,  dearest,  while  my  feet  go  down 
Into  the  silent  stream  ;  nor  loose  yoiir  hold, 
Till  angels  clasp  me  on  the  other  side. 


Edward,  you  are  not  dying — must  not  die  ; 
For  only  now  are  we  prepared  to  live. 
You  must  have  quiet,  and  a  night  of  rest. 
Be  silent,  if  you  love  me  ! 

EDWAKD. 

If  I  love  ? 

All,  Mary  !    never  till  this  blessed  hour, 
When  power  and  passion,  lust  and  pride  are  gone, 
Have  I  perceived  what  wedded  love  may  be  ; — 
Unutterable  fondness,  soul  for  soul ; 
Profoundest  tenderness  between  two  hearts 
Allied  by  nature,  interlocked  by  life. 


1 96  B1TTER-S  WEET. 

I  know  that  I  shall  die  ;  but  the  low  cloucU 
That  closed  my  mental  vision  have  retired, 
And  left  a  sky  as  clear  and  calm  as  Heaven. 
I  must  talk  now,  or  never  more  on  earth  : 
So  do  not  hinder  me. 

MARY. 

[  Weeping 

Have  you  a  wish 

That  I  can  gratify  ?     Have  you  any  words 
To  send  to  other  friends  ? 

EDWARD. 

I  have  no  friends 

But  you  and  these,  and  only  wish  to  leave 
My  worthless  name  and  memory  redeemed 
Within  your  hearts  to  pitying  respect. 
I  have  no  strength,  and  it  becomes  me  not, 
To  tell  the  story  of  my  life  of  sin. 
I  was  a  drunkard,  thief,  adulterer  ; 


BITTER-SWEET.  197 

And  fled  from  shame,  with  shame,  to  find  remorse. 

I  had  but  few  months  of  debauchery, 

Pursued  with  mad  intent  to  damp  or  drown 

The  flames  of  a  consuming  conscience,  when 

My  body,  poisoned,  crippled  by  disease, 

Refused  the  guilty  service  of  my  soul, 

And  at  mid-day  fell  prone  upon  the  street. 

Thence  I  was  carried  to  a  hospital, 

And  there  I  woke  to  that  delirium 

Which  none  but  drunkards  this  side  of  the  pit 

May  even  dream  of. 

But  at  last  there  came, 
With  abstinence  and  kindly  medicines, 
Release  from  pain,  and  peaceful  sanity  : 
And  then  Christ  found  me,  ready  for  His  hand. 
I  was  not  ready  for  Him  when  He  came 
And  asked  me  for  my  youth;  and  when  He  knocked 
At  my  heart's  door  in  manhood's  early  prime 
With  tenderest  monitions,  I  debarred 


198  BITTER-SWEET. 

His  waiting  feet  with  promise  and  excuse  ; 
And  when,  in  after  years,  absorbed  in  sin, 
The  gentle  summons  swelled  to  thunderings 
That  echoed  through  the  chambers  of  my  soul 
With  threats  of  vengeance,  I  shut  up  my  ears  ; 
And  then  He  Aveut  away,  and  let  me  rush 
Without  arrest,  or  protest,  toward  the  pit. 
I  made  swift  passage  downward,  till,  at  length, 
I  had  become  a  miserable  wreck — 
Pleasure  behind  me  ;  only  pain  before  ; 
My  life  lived  out ;  the  fires  of  passion  dead  ; 
Without  a  friend  ;  no  pride,  no  power,  no  hope  ; 
No  motive  in  me,  e'en  to  wish  for  life. 
Then,  as  I  said,  Christ  came,  with  stern  aud  sad 
Reminders  ol  His  mercy  and  my  guilt, 
And  the  door  fell  "before  Him. 

I  went  out, 

And  trod  the  wildernesses  of  remorse 
For  many  days.     Then  from  their  outer  verge. 


BITTER  SWEET.  199 

Tortured  and  blinded,  I  plunged  madly  down 
Into  tlie  sullen  bosorn  of  despair  ; 
But  strength  from  Heaven  was  given  me,  and  pre 
served 

Breath  in  my  bosom,  till  a  light  streamed  up 
Upon  the  other  shore,  and  I  struck  out 
On  the  cold  waters,  struggling  for  my  life. 
Fainting  I  reached  the  beach,  and  on  my  knees 
Climbed  up  the  thorny  hill  of  penitence, 
Till  I  could  see,  tipou  its  distant  brow, 
The  Saviour  beck'ning.     Then  I  ran — I  flew — 
And  grasped  his  outstretched  hand.     It  lifted  me 
High  on  the  everlasting  rock,  and  then 
It  folded  me,  with  all  my  griefs  and  tears, 
My  sin-sick  body  and  my  guilt-stained  soul, 
To  the  great  heart  that  throbs  for  all  the  world. 

MAPvY. 

Dear  Lord,  I  bless  thee  !     Thou  hast  heard  o; 
prayer, 


200  BITTER-SWEET. 

And  saved  the  wanderer  !    Hear  it  once  again, 
And  lengthen  out  tlie  life  thou  hast  redeemed  ! 


EDWARD. 

Mary,  rny  wife,  forbear  !    I  may  not  give 
Response  to  such  petition.     I  have  prayed 
That  I  may  die.     When  first  the  love  Divine 
Received  me  on  its  bosom,  and  in  mine 
I  felt  the  springing  of  another  life, 
I  begged  the  Lord  to  grant  me  two  requests — 
The  first  that  I  might  die,  and  in  that  world 
Whore  passion  sleeps,  and  only  influence 
From  Him  and  those  who  cluster  at  His  throne 
Breathes  on  the  soul,  the  germ  of  His  great  life, 
Bursting  within  me,  might  be  perfected. 
The  second,  that  your  life,  my  love,  and  mine. 
Might  be  once  more  united  on  the  earth 
In  holy  marriage,  and  that  mine  might  be 
Breathed  out  at  last  within  vour  loving  arms. 


BITTER-SWEET.  201 

One  prayer  is  granted,  and  the  other  waits 
But  a  brief  space  for  its  accomplishment. 

MARY. 

But  why  this  prayer  to  die  ?     Still  loving  me, — 
With  the  great  motive  for  desiring  life, 
And  the  deep  secret  of  enjoyment  won, — • 
Why  pray  for  death  ? 

EDWARD. 

Do  you  not  know  me,  Mary  ? 
I  am  afraid  to  live,  for  1  arn  weak. 
I've  found  a  treasure  only  life  can  steal ; 
I've  won  a  jewel  only  death  will  keep. 
In  such  a  heart  as  mine,  the  priceless  pearl 
"Would  not  be  safe.     That  which  I  would  not  take 
WThen  health  was  with  me, — which  I  spurned  awaj 
So  long  as  I  had  power  to  sin,  I  fear 

Would  be  surrendered  with  that  power's  return, 
t 
And  the  temptation  to  its  exercise. 

For  soul  like  mine,  diseased  in  every  part, 


202  BITTER-SWEET. 

There  is  but  one  condition  in  which  grace 
May  give  it  service.     For  nay  malady 
The  Great  Physician  draws  the  blood  away 
That  only  flows  to  feed  its  baleful  fires  ; 
For  only  thus  the  balsam  and  the  balm 
May  touch  the  springs  of  healing. 

So  I  pray 

To  be  delivered  from  myself, — to  be 
Delivered  from  necessity  of  ill, — 
To  be  secured  from  bringing  harm  to  you. 
Oh,  what  a  boon  is  death  to  the  sick  soul ! 
I  greet  it  with  a  joy  that  passes  speech. 
Were  the  whole  world  to  come  before  me  now, — 
Wealth  with  its  treasures  ;  Pleasure  with  its  cup  ; 
Power  robed  in  purple  ;  Beauty  in  its  pride, 
And  with  Love's  sweetest  blossoms  garlanded  ; 
Fame  with  its  bays,  and  Glory  with  its  crown, 
To  tempt  me  liieward,  I  would  turn  away, 
And  stretch  my  hands  with  utter  eagerness 


BITTER-SWEET.  203 

Toward  the  pale  angel  waiting  for  me  now, 
And  give  my  hand  to  him,  to  be  led  out, 
Serenely  singing,  to  the  laud  of  shade. 


Edward,  I  yield  you.     I  would  not  retain 
One  who  has  strayed  so  long  from  God  and  heaven, 
When  his  weak  feet  have  found  the  only  path 
Open  for  such  as  he. 


My  strength  recedes  ; 
But  ere  it  fail,  tell  me  how  fares  your  life. 
You  have  seen  sorrow  ;  but  it  comforts  me 
To  hear  the  language  of  a  chastened  soul 
From  one  perverted  by  my  guilty  hand. 
You  speak  the  dialect  of  the  redeemed — 
The  Heaven-accepted.     Tell  me  it  is  so, 
And  you  are  happy. 


204  BITTER-SWEET. 

MARY. 

With  sweet  hope  and  trust 
I  may  reply,  'tis  as  you  think  and  wish. 
I  have  seen  sorrow,  surely,  and  the  more 
That  I  have  seen  what  was  far  worse  ;  but  God 
Sent  his  own  servant  to  me  to  restore 
My  sadly  straying  feet  to  the  sure  path  ; 
And  in  my  soul  I  have  the  pledge  of  grace 
Which  shah1  suffice  to  keep  them  there. 

EDWARD. 

Ah,  joy  ! 

You  found  a  friend  ;  and  my  o'erflowing  heart, 
Welling  with  gratitude,  pours  out  to  him 
For  his  kind  ministry  its  fitting  meed. 
Oh,  breathe  his  name  to  mo,  that  my  poor  lipa 
May  bind  it  to  a  benison,  and  that, 
While  dying,  I  may  whisper  it  with  those — 
Jesus  and  Mary — which  I  love  the  best. 
Name  him,  I  pray  you. 


BITTERSWEET.  20.-) 

MABT 

You  would  ask  of  me 

To  bear  your  thanks  to  liim,  and  to  rehearse 
Your  dying  words  ? 

GRACE. 

He  asks  your  good  friend's  name; 
You  do  not  understand  him. 

MAIiY. 

It  is  hard 

To  give  denial  to  a  dying  wish  ; 
But  Edward,  I've  no  right  to  speak  his  name. 
He  was  a  Christian  man,  and  you  may  give 
Of  the  full  largess  of  your  gratitude 
All,  without  robbing  God,  you  have  to  give, 
And  fail,  e'en  then,  of  worthy  recompense. 

EPWABD. 

Your  will  is  mine. 


206  BITTER-SWEET. 

GKACE. 

Nay,  Mary,  tell  it  him  ! 

Where  is  he  going  he  should  bruit  the  name  ? 
Remember  where  he  lies,  and  that  no  ears 
Save  those  of  angels 

MARY. 

There  are  others  here 
Who  may  not  hear  it. 

RITTH. 

We  will  all  retire. 

It  is  not  proper  we  should  linger  here, 
Barring  the  sacred  confidence  of  hearts 
Parting  so  sadly. 

DAVID. 

Mary,  you  must  yield, 
Nor  keep  the  secret  longer  from  your  friendl. 

MARY. 
David,  you  know  not  what  you  say. 


BITTER '•  SWEET.  207 

DAVID. 

I  know  ; 
So  give  the  dying  man  no  more  delay. 

MAKY. 

I  will  declare  it  under  your  command. 
This  stranger  friend — stranger  for  many  months— 
This  man,  selectest  instrument  of  Heaven, 
Who  gave  me  succor-in  my  hour  of  need, 
Snatched  me  from  ruin,  rescued  me  from  want,  * 
Counselled  and  cheered  me,  prayed  with  me,  and 

then 

Led  me  with  careful  hand  into  the  light, 
Was  he  now  bending  over  you  in  tears — 
David,  my  brother  ! 

EDWABD. 

Blessed  be  his  name  ! 
Brother  by  every  law.  above — below  ! 


208  BITTER-SWEET. 

GRACE. 

[Pale  and  trembling. 

David  ?    My  husband  ?    Did  I  hear  aright  ? 

You  are  not  jesting  !    Sure  you  would  not  jest 

At  such  a  juncture  !     Speak,  my  husband,  speak 

Is  this  a  plot  to  cheat  a  dying  man, 

Or  cheat  a  wife  who,  if  it  be  no  plot, 

Ts  worthy  death  ?     What  can  you  mean  by  this  ? 

MARY. 

Not  more  nor  less  than  my  true  words  convey. 

GRACE. 

Nay,  David,  tell  me  ! 

\ 

DAVID. 

Mary's  words  are  truth. 

GKACE, 

O  mean  and  jealous  heart,  what  hast  them  done  ! 
What  wrong  to  honor,  spite  to  Christian  love, 


DEAR  HUSBAND  !  DAVID  !  LOOK  urox  YOUR  WIFE 


BITTER-SWEET.  209 

And  shame  to  self  beyond  self -pardoning  ! 
How  can  I  ever  lift  ray  faithless  eyes 
To  those  true  eyes  that  I  have  counted  false  ; 
Or  meet  those  lips  that  I  have  charged  with  lies; 
Or  win  the  dear  embraces  I  have  spurned  ? 

0  most  unhappy,  most  unworthy  wife  ! 

No  one  but  he  who  still  has  clung  to  thee,— 
Piwid,  and  imperious,  and  impenitent, — 
No  one  but  he  Avho  has  in  silence  borne 
Thy  peevish  criminations  and  complaints 
Can  now  forgive  thee,  when  in  deepest  shame 
Thou  bowest  with  confession  of  thy  faults. 
Dear  husband !     David  !    Look  upon  your  wife  ! 
Behold  one  kneeling  never  knelt  to  you  ! 

1  have  abused  you  and  your  faithful  love, 
And  in  my  great  humiliation,  pray 

You  will  not  trample  me  beneath  your  feet. 
Pity  my  weakness,  and  remember,  too, 
That  Love  was  jealous  of  thee,  and  not  Hate — 
That  it  was  Love's  own  pride  tormented  me. 


310  BITTER-SWEET. 

My  husband,  take  me  once  more  to  your  arms, 

And  kiss  me  in  forgiveness  ;  say  that  you 

Will  be  my  counsellor,  my  friend,  my  love  ; 

And  I  will  give  myself  to  you  again, 

To  be  all  yours — my  reason,  confidence, 

My  faith  and  trust  all  yours,  my  heart's  best  love, 

My  service  and  my  prayers,  all  yours — all  yours  ! 


DAVID. 

Rise,  dearest,  rise  !    It  gives  me  only  pain 
That  such  as  you  should  kneel  to  such  as  I. 
Your  words  inform  me  that  you  kno\v  how  weak 
I  am  whom  you  have  only  fancied  weak. 
Forgive  you  ?    I  forgive  you  everything  : 
Aud  take  the  pardon  which  your  prayer  insures.' 
Let  this  embrace,  this  kiss,  be  evidence 
Our  jarring  hearts  catch  common  rhythm  again, 
And  we  are  lovers. 


BITTER-SWEET.  Sit 

RUTH. 

Hush  !    You  trouble  him. 
He  undeistands  this  scene  uo  more  than  we. 
Mary,  he  speaks  to  you. 

EDWAED. 

Dear  wife,  farewell ! 

The  room  grows  dim,  and  silently  and  soft 
The  veil  is  dropping  'twixt  my  eyes  and  yours, 
Which  soon  will  hide  me  from  you— you  from  me. 
Only  one  hand  is  warm  ;  it  rests  in  yours, 
Whose  full,  sweet  pulses  throb  along  my  arm, 
So  that  I  live  upon  them.     Cling  to  me  ! 
And  thus  your  life,  after  my  life  is  past, 
Shall  lay  me  gently  in  the  arms  of  Death. 
Thus  shall  you  link  your  being  with  a  soul 
Gazing  unveiled  upon  the  Great  White  Throne. 

Dear  hearts  of  love  surrounding  me,  farewell ! 

I  cannot  see  you  now  ;  or,  if  I  do, 

You  are  transfigured.     There  are  floating  forms 


212  HITTER-SWEET. 

That  whisper  over  me  like  summer  leaves  ; 

And  now  there  comes,  and  spreads  through  all  my 

soul 

Delicious  influx  of  another  life, 
From  out  whose  essence  spring,  like  living  flowers, 
Angelic  senses  with  quick  ultimates, 
That  catch  the  rustle  of  ethereal  robes, 
And  the  thin  chime  of  melting  ministrelsy — 
Rising  and  falling — answered  far  away — 
As  Echo,  dreaming  in  the  twilight  woods, 
Repeats  the  warble  of  her  twilight  birds. 
And  flowers  that  mock  the  Iris  toss  their  cups 
In  the  impulsive  ether,  and  spill  out 
Sweet  tides  of  perfume,  fragrant  deluges, 
Flooding  my  spirit  like  an  angel's  breath. 
******* 

And  still  the  throng  increases  ;  still  unfold 
With  broader  span  and  more  elusive  sweep 
The  radiant  vistas  of  a  world  divine. 
But  O  my  soul !  what  vision  rises  now  I 


BITTER-SWEET.  213 

Far,  far  away,  white  blazing  like  the  sun, 

In  deepest  distance  and  on  highest  height, 

Through  walls  diaphauoiis,  and  atmosphere 

Flecked  with  unnumbered  forms  of  missive  power, 

Out-going  fleetly  and  returning  slow, 

A  presence  sKines  I  may  not  penetrate  ; 

But  on  a  throne,  with  smile  ineffable, 

I  see  a  form  my  conscious  spirit  knows. 

Jesus,  my  Saviour  !    Jesus,  Lamb  of  God  ! 

Jesus  who  taketh  from  me  ah1  my  sins, 

And  from  the  world  !    Jesus,  I  come  to  Thee  ! 

Come  Thou  to  me  !  O  come,  Lord,  quickly!  Cornel 

DAVID. 

Flown  on  the  wings  of  rapture  !     Is  this  death  ? 
His  heart  is  still  ;  his  beaded  brow  is  cold  ; 
His  wasted  breast  struggles  for  breath  no  more  ; 
And  his  pale  features,  hardened  with  the  stress 
Of  Life's  resistance,  momently  subside 
Into  a  smile,  calm  as  a  twilight  lake, 


214  BITTERSWEET. 

Sprent  with  the  images  of  rising  stars. 

We  have  seen  Evil  in  his  countless  forms 

In  these  poor  lives  ;   have  met  his  armed  hosts 

In  dread  encounter  and  discomfiture  ; 

And  languished  in  captivity  to  them, 

Until  we  lost  our  courage  and  our  faith  ; 

And  here  we  see  their  Chieftain — Terror's  King  ! 

He  cuts  the  knot  that  binds  a  -weary  soul 

To  faithless  passions,  sateless  appetites, 

And  powers  perverted,  and  it  flies  away 

Singing  toward  Heaven.     He  turns  and  looks  at  us, 

And  finds  us  weeping  with  our  gratitude  — 

Full  of  sweet  sorrow, — sorrow  sweeter  far 

Than  the  supremest  ecstasy  of  joy. 

And  this  is  death  !     Think  you  that  raptured  soul, 
Now  walking  humbly  in  the  golden  streets, 
Bearing  the  precious  burden  of  a  love 
Too  great  for  utterance,  or  with  hushed  heart 
Drinking  the  music  of  the  ransomed  throng, 


BITTER-SWEET.  215 

Counts  death  ail  evil  ? — evil,  sickness,  pain, 

Calamity,  or  aught  that  God  prescribed 

To  cure  it  of  its  sin,  or  bring  it  where 

The  healing  hand  of  Christ  might  touch  it  ?    No  ! 

He  is  a  man  to-night — a  man  in  Christ. 

This  was  his  childhood,  here  ;  and  as  we  give 

A  smile  of  wonder  to  the  little  woes 

That  drew  the  tears  from  out  our  own  young  eves- 

The  kind  corrections  and  severe  constraints 

Imposed  by  those  who  loved  us — so  he  sees 

A  father's  chastisement  in  all  the  ill 

That  filled  his  life  with  darkness  ;  so  he  sees 

In  every  evil  a  kind  instrument 

To  chasten,  elevate,  correct,  subdue, 

And  fit  him  for  that  heavenly  estate — 

Saintsnip  in  Christ — the  Manhood  Absolute  \ 


L'JSNVO  Y. 

MIDNIGHT  and  silence  !    In  the  West  unveiled, 
The  broad  full  moon  is  shining,  with  the  stare. 
On  mount  and  valley,  forest,  roof,  and  rock, 
On  billowy  hills  smooth-stretching  to  the  sky, 
On  rail  and  wall,  on  all  things  far  and  near, 
Cling  the  bright  crystals, — all  the  earth  a  floor 
Of  polished  silver,  pranked  with  bending  forms 
Uplifting  to  the  light  their  precious  weight 
Of  pearls  and  diamonds,  set  in  palest  gold. 
The  storm  is  dead  ;  and  when  it  rolled  away 
It  took  no  star  from  heavon,  but  left  to  earth 
Such  legacy  of  beauty  as  the  wind — 
The  light-robed  shepherdess  from  Cuban  groves— 
Driving  soft  showers  before  her,  and  warm  airs, 
Aaid  her  wide-scattered  flocks  of  wet-winged  birds, 


B1TTEH-SWEET.  217 

Ne\er  bestowed  upon  the  waiting  Spring. 
Pale,  silent,  smiling,  cold,  and  beautiful  ! 
Do  storms  die  thus  ?  And  is  it  this  to  die  ? 

Midnight  and  silence  !     la  that  hallowed  room 
God's  full-orbed  peace  is  shining,  with  the  stars. 
On  head  and  hand,  on  brow,  and  lip,  and  eye, 
On  folded  arms,  on  broad  unmoving  breast, 
On  the  white-sanded  floor,  on  everything, 
Bests  the  pale  radiance,  while  bending  forms 
Stand  all  around,  loaded  with  precious  weight 
Of  jewels  such  as  holy  angels  wear. 
Tho  man  is  dead  ;  and  when  he  passed  away 
He  blotted  out  no  good,  but  left  behind 
Such  wealth  of  faith,  such  store  of  love  and  trust, 
As  breath  of  joy,  in-floating  from  the  isles 
Smiled  on  by  ceaseless  summer,  and  endued 
With  foliage  and  flowers  perennial, 
Never  conveyed  to  the  enchanted  SOXT]. 
Do  men  die  thus  ?    And  is  it  this  to  die  ? 


218  BITTER-SWEET. 

Midnight  and  silence  !     At  each  waiting  bed 
Husband  and  wife,  embracing,  kneel  in  prayer  ; 
And  lips  unused  to  such  a  benison 
Breathe  blessings  upon  evil,  and  give  thanks 
For  knowledge  of  its  sacred  ministry. 
An  infant  nestles  on  a  mother's  breast, 
Whose  head  is  pillowed  where  it  has  not  lain 
For  months  of  wasted  life — the  tale  all  told, 
And  confidence  and  love  for-aye  secure. 

The  widow  and  the  virgin  ;  where  are  they  ? 
The  morn  shall  find  them  watching  with  the  dead, 
Like  the  two  angels  at  the  tomb  of  Christ, — 
One  at  the  head,  the  other  at  the  foot, — 
Guarding  a  sepulchre  whose  occupant 
Has  risen,  and  rolled  the  heavy  stone  away  1 

THE   END. 


KATHRDTA. 


KATHRINA. 


A  TRIBUTE. 

More  human,  more  divine  than  we— 
In  truth  all  human,  all  divine — 

Is  woman,  wlieu  good  stars  agree 
To  temper  with  their  beams  benign 

The  hour  of  her  nativity. 

The  fairest  flower  the  green  earth  bears, 
Bright  with  the  dew  and  light  of  heaven, 

Is,  of  the  double  life  she  wears, 
The  type,  in  grace  and  glory  given 

By  soil  and  sun  in  equal  shares. 


KATHR1NA. 

True  sister  of  the  Son  of  Man  : 
True  sister  of  the  Son  of  God  : 

What  marvel  that  she  leads  the  van 
Of  those  who  in  the  path  lie  trod, 

Still  bear  the  cross  and  wear  the  ban  ? 

If  God  be  in  the  sky  and  sea, 
And  live  in  light  and  ride  the  storm, 

Then  God  is  God,  although  He  be 
Enshrined  within  a  woman's  form, 

And  claims  glad  reverence  from  me. 

So,  as  I  worship  Him  in  Christ, 
And  in  the  Forms   of  Earth  and  Air, 

I  worship  Him  iniparadised, 

And  throned  within  her  bosom  fair 

Whom  vanity  hath  not  enticed. 

O  !  woman — mother  !    Woman — wife  ! — 
The  sweetest  names  that  language  knows  ! 

Thy  breast,  with  holy  motives  rife, 
With  holiest  affection  glows, 

Thou  queen,  thou  angel  of  my  life  1 


KATHB1NA. 

Noble  and  fine  in  iiis  degree 
Is  the  best  man  niy  heart  receives  ; 

And  tliis  my  heart's  supremest  plea 
For  him  :  he  feels,  acts,  lives,  believes, 

And  seems,  and  is,  tlie  likest  thee. 

O  men  !     O  brothers  !    Well  I  know 
That  with  her  nature  in  our  souls 

Is  bom  the  elemental  woe — 

• 

The  brutal  impulse  that  controls, 
And  drives,  or  drags,  the  godlike  low. 

Ambition,  appetite  and  pride — 

These  throng  and  thrall  the  hearts  of  men 
These  plat  the  thorns,  and  pierce  the  side 

Of  Him  who,  in  our  souls  again, 
Is  spit  upon,  and  crucified. 

The  greed  for  gain,  the  thirst  for  power, 
The  lust  that  blackens  while  it  bums  : 

Ah  !  these  the  whitest  souls  deflour  ! 
And  one,  or  all  of  these  by  turns, 

Rob  man  of  his  divinest  dower  I 


KATHR1NA. 

Yet  man,  who  shivers  like  a  straw 
Before  Temptation's  lightest  breeze, 

Assumes  the  master— gives  the  law 
To  her  who,  on  her  bended  knees, 

Kesists  the  black-winged  thunder-flaw  ! 

To  him  who  deems  her  weak  and  vain, 
And  boasts  his  own  exceeding  might, 

She  clings  through  darkest  fortune  fain  ; 
Still  loyal,  though  the  ruffian  smite  ; 

Still  true,  though  crime  his  hands  distain  ' 

And  is  this  weakness  ?    Is  it  not 

The  strength  of  God,  that  loves  and  bears 
Though  He  be  slighted  or  forgot 

In  damning  crimes,  or  driving  cares, 
And  closest  clings  in  darkest  lot  ? 

Not  many  friends  my  life  has  made  ; 

Few  have  I  loved,  and  few  are  they 
Who  in  my  hand  their  hearts  have  laid  ; 

And  these  were  women.  I  am  gray, 
But  never  have  I  been  betrayed. 


KATRR1NA. 

These  words — this  tribute — for  the  sake 
Of  truth  to  God  and  womankind  ! 

These — that  my  heart  may  cease  to  ache 
With  love  and  gratitude  confined, 

And  burning  from  my  lips  to  break  ! 

These — to  that  sisterhood  of  grace 
That  numbers  in  its  sacred  list 

My  mother,  risen  to  her  place  ; 

My  wife,  but  yester-moming  kissed, 

And  folded  in  Love's  last  embrace  ! 

This  tribute  of  a  love  profound 
As  ever  moved  the  heart  of  man, 

To  those  to  whom  my  life  is  bound, 
To  her  in  whom  my  life  began, 

And  her  whose  love  my  life  hath  crowned  ! 

Immortal  Love  !  Thou  still  hast  wings 
To  lift  me  to  those  radiant  fields, 

Where  Music  waits  with  trembling  strings, 
And  Verse  her  happy  numbers  yields, 

And  all  the  soul  within  me  sings. 


EATHR1NA. 

So  from  tlie  lovely  Pagan  dream 
I  call  no  more  the  Tuneful  Nine  ; 

For  "Woman  is  my  Muse  Supreme  ; 
And  she  with  fire  and  flight  divine, 

Shall  light  and  lead  me  to  my  theme. 


PART  I. 


CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH. 

THOU  lovely  vale  of  sweetest  stream  that  flows 
Winding  and  willow-fringed  Connecticut ! 
Swift  to  thy  fairest  scenes  my  fancy  flies, 
As  I  recall  the  story  of  a  life 
Which  there  began  in  years  of  sinless  hope, 
And  merged  maturely  into  hopeless  sin. 

O  !  golden  dawning  of  a  day  of  storms, 
That  fell  ere  noontide  into  rayless  nignt ! 
O  !  beautiful  initial,  vermil-flowered, 
And  bright  with  cherub-eyes  and  effigies, 
To  the  black-letter  volume  of  my  life  I 


8  EATER  Iff  A. 

0  !  faery  gateway,  gilt  and  garlanded, 
And  shining  in  the  sun,  to  gloomy  groves 
Of  shadowy  cypress,  and  to  sunless  streams, 
Feeding  with  bane  the  deadly  nightshade's  roots, — 
To  vexing  labyrinths  of  doubt  and  fear, 

And  deep  abysses  of  despair  and  death  ! 
Back  to  thy  peaceful  villages  and  fields, 
My  memory,  like  a  weaiy  pilgrim,  comes 
With  scrip  and  burdon,  to  repose  awhile,— 
To  pluck  a  daisy  from  a  lonely  grave 
Where  long  ago,  in  common  sepulture, 

1  laid  my  mother  and  my  faith  in  God  ; 
To  fix  the  record  of  a  single  day 

So  memorably  wonderful  and  sweet 

Its  power  of  inspiration  lingers  still, — 

So  full  of  her  dear  presence,  so  divine 

With  the  melodious  breathing  of  her  words, 

And  the  warm  radiance  of  her  loving  smile, 

That  tears  fall  readily  as  April  rain 

At  its  recall ;  to  pass  in  swift  review 

The  years  of  adolescence,  and  the  paths 

Of  glare  and  gloom  through  which,  by  passion  led. 


KATHR1NA. 

I  reached  the  fair  possession  of  my  power, 
And  won  the  dear  possession  of  my  love, 
And  then — farewell ! 

Queen-village  of  the  meads 
Fronting  the  sunrise  and  in  beauty  throned, 
"With  jeweled  homes  around  her  lifted  brow, 
And  coronal  of  ancient  forest  trees — 
Northampton  sits,  and  rules  her  pleasant  realm. 
There  where  the  saintly  Edwards  heralded 
The  terrors  of  the  Lord,  and  men  bowed  low 
Beneath  the  menace  of  his  awful  words  ; 
And  there  where  Nature,  with  a  thousand  tongues 
Tender  and  true,  from  vale  and  mountain-top, 
And  smiling  streams,  and  landscapes  piled  afar, 
Proclaimed  a  gentler  Gospel,  I  was  born. 

In  an  old  home,  beneath  an  older  elm — 
A  fount  of  weeping  greenery,  that  dripped 
Its  spray  of  rain  and  dew  upon  the  roof — 
I  opened  eyes  on  life ;  and  now  return 
Among  the  visions  of  my  early  years, 


10  KATHR1NA. 

Two  so  distinct  tliat  all  the  rest  grow  dim  : 
My  mother's  pale,  fond  face  and  tearful  eyes, 
Bent  upon  me  in  Love's  absorbing  trance, 
From   the  low  window  where    she   watched   my 

play ; 

ind,  after  this,  the  wondrous  elm,  that  seemed 
To  my  young  fancy  like  an  airy  bosk, 
Poised  by  a  single  stem  upon  the  earth, 
And  thronged  by  instant  marvels.     There  in  Spring 
I  heard  with  joy  the  cheeiy  blue-bird's  note  ; 
There  sang  rejoicing  robins  after  rain  ; 
And  there  within  the  emerald  twilight,  which 
Defied  the  mid-day  sun,  from  bough  to  bough — 
A  torch  of  downy  flame — the  oriole 
Passed  to  his  nest,  to  feed  the  censer-fires 
Which  Love  had  lit  for  Airs  of  Heaven  to  swing. 
There,  too,  through  all  the  weird  September-eves 
T  heard  the  harsh,  reiterant  katydids 
Rasp  the  mysterious  silence.     There  I  watched 
The  glint  of  stars,  playing  at  hide-and-seek 
Behind  the  swaying  foliage,  till  drawn 
By  tender  hands  to  childhood's  balmy  rest. 


KATHR1NA.  11 

Mj  Mother  and  the  elm  !    Too  soon  I  learned 

+' 

That  o'er  me  hung,  and  o'er  the  widowed  one 

Who  gavo  me  birth,  with  broader  boughs, 

Haunted  by  sabler  wings  and  sadder  sounds, 

A  darker  shadow  than  the  mighty  elm  ! 

I  caught  the  secret  in  the  street  from  those 

Who  pointed  at  me  as  I  passed,  or  paused 

To  gaze  in  sighing  pity  on  my  play  ; 

From  playmates  who,  forbidden  to  divulge 

The  knowledge  they  possessed,  with  childish  tricka 

Of  indirection  strove  in  vain  to  hide 

Their  awful  meaning  in  itnmeaning  phrase  ; 

From  kisses  which  were  pitiful ;  from  words 

Gentler  than  love's,  because  compassionate  ; 

From  deep,  unconscious  sighs  out  of  the  heart 

Of  her  who  loved  me  best,  and  from  her  tears 

That  freest  flowed  when  I  was  happiest. 

From  frailest  filaments  of  evidence, 

From  dark  allusions  faintly  overheard, 

From  hint  and  look  and  sudden  change  of  themo 

When  I  approached,  from  widely  scattered  words 


12  KATHRWA. 

Remembered  well,  and  gathered  all  at  length 
Into  consistent  terms,  I  know  not  now 
I  wrought  the  full  conclusion,  nor  how  young. 
I  only  know  that  when  a  little  child 
I  learned,  though  no  one  told,  that  he  who  gave 
My  life  to  nie  in  madness  took  his  own- 
Took  it  from  fear  of  want,  though  he  possessed 
The  finest  fortune  in  the  rich  old  town. 

Henceforth  I  had  a  secret  which  I  kept — 
Kept  by  my  mother  with  as  close  a  tongue — 
A  secret  which  irnbittered  eveiy  cup. 
It  bred  rebellion  in  me — filled  my  soul, 
Opening  to  life  in  innocent  delight, 
With  baleful  doubt  and  harrowing  distrust. 
Why,  if  my  father  was  the  godly  man 
His  gentle  widow  vouched  with  tender  tears, 
Did  He  to  whom  she  bowed  in  daily  prayer — 
Who  loved  us,  as  she  told  me,  with  a  love 
Ineffable  for  strength  and  tenderness — 
Permit  such  fate  to  him,  such  woe  to  us  ? 
Ah  !  many  a  time,  repeating  on  my  knees 


KATHR1NA.  13 

The  simple  language  of  my  evening  prayer 
Which  her  dear  lips  had  taught  me,  came  the 

dark 

Perplexing  question,  stirring  in  my  heart 
A  sense  of  guilt,  or  quenching  all  my  faith. 
This,  too,  I  kept  a  secret.     I  had  died 
Rather  than  breathe  the  question  in  her  ears 
Who  knelt  beside  me.     I  had  rather  died 
Than  add  a  sorrow  to  the  load  she  bore. 

Taught  to  be  time,  I  played  the  hypocrite 

In  truthfulness  to  her.     I  had  no  God, 

No  penitence,  no  loyalty,  no   love. 

For  any  being  higher  than  herself. 

Jealous  of  all  to  whom  she  gave  her  hand. 

I  clung  to  her  with  fond  idolatry. 

I  sat  with  her  ;  where'er  she  walked,  I  walked  : 

I  kissed  away  her  tears  ;  I  strove  to  fill, 

With  strange  precocity  of  manly  pride 

And  more  than  boyish  tenderness,  the  void 

Which  death  had  made. 

I  could  not  fail  to  see 
That  ruth  for  me  and  sorrow  for  her  loss-  - 


14  K  AT  ERIN  A. 

Twin  leeches  at  her  hea  rt— were  driakiug  blood 
That,  from  her  pallid  features,  day  by  day 
Sank  slowly  down,  to  feed  the  cruel  draught. 
Nay,  more  than  this  I  saw,  and  sadly  worse. 
Oft  when  I  watched  her,  and  she  knew  it  not, 
I  marked  a  quivering  horror  sweep  her  face — 
A  strange,  quick  thrill  of  pain— that  brought  lmr 

hand 

With  sudden  pressure  to  her  heart,  and  forced 
To  her  white  lips  a  swiftly  whispered  prayer. 
I  fancied  that  I  read  the  mystery  ; 
But  it  was  deeper  and  more  terrible 
Than  I  conjectured.     Not  till  darker  years 
Came  the  solution. 


Still,  we  had  some  days 
Of  pleasure.     Sorrow  cannot  always  brood 
Over  the  shivering  forms  that  drink  her  warmth, 
But  springs  to  meet  the  morning  light,  and  soars 
Into  the  empyrean,  to  forget 
For  one  sweet  hour  the  ring  of  greedy  mouths 
That  siirely  wait,  and  cry  for  her  return. 


KATHR1NA.  15 

My  mother's  hand  in  mine,  or  mine  in  hers, 
We  often  left  the  village  far  behind, 
And  walked  the  meadow-paths  to  gather  flowers, 
And  watch  the  ploughman  as  he  turned  the  tilth, 
Or  tossed  his  burnished  share  into  the  sun 
At  the  long  furrow's  end,  the  while  we  marked 
The  tipsy  bobolink,  struggling  with  the  chain 
Of  tinkling  music  that  perplexed  his  wings, 
And  listened  to  the  yellow-breasted  lark's 
Sweet  whistle  from  the  grass. 

Glad  in  my  joy, 

My  mother  smiled  amid  these  scenes  and  sounds. 
And  wandered  on  with  gentle  step  and  slow, 
While  I,  in  boyish  frolic,  ran  before, 
Chasing  the  butterflies,  or  in  her  path 
Tossing  the  gaudy  gold  of  buttercups, 
Till  sometimes,  ere  we  knew,  we  stood  entranced 
Upon  the  river's  marge. 

• 

Ever  the  spell 

Of  lapsing  water  tamed  my  playful  mood, 
And  I  reclined  in  silent  happiness 


16  KATHR1NA. 

At  the  tired  feet  that  rested  in  the  shade. 
There  through  the  long,  bright  mornings  wo  re 
mained, 

Watching  the  noisy  ferry -boat  that  plied 
Like  a  slow  shuttle  through  the  sunny  warp 
Of  threaded  silver  from  a  thousand  brooks, 
That  took  new  beauty  as  it  wound  away; 
Or  gazing  where  at  Holyoke's  verdant  base — 
Like  a  shin  hound,  stretched  at  his  master's  feet — 
Lay  the  long,  lazy  hamlet,  Hockanum; 
Or,  upward  turning,  traced  the  line  that  climbed 
O'er  splintered  rock  and  clustered  foliage 
To  the  bare  mountain  top;  then  followed  down 
The  seal's  of  fire  and  storm,  or  paths  of  gloom 
That  marked  the  curtained  gorges,  till,  at  last, 
Caught  by  a  wisp  of  white,  belated  mist, 
Our  vision  rose  to  trace  its  airy  flight 
Beyond  the  height,  into  the  distant  blue. 

One  morning,  while  we  rested  there,  she  told 

Of  a  dear  friend  upon  the  other  side — 

A  lady  who  had  loved  her — whom  she  loved — 


KATHR1NA.  17 

And  then  she  promised  to  my  eager  wish 
That  soon,  across  the  stream  I  longed  to  pass, 
I  should  go  with  her  to  the  lady's  home. 

The  wished-f  or  day  came  slowly — came  at  last— 
My  birthday  morning — rounding  to  their  close 
The  fourteen,  summers  of  my  boyhood's  life. 
The  early  mists  were  clinging  to  the  sido 
Of  the  dark  mountain* as  we  left  the  town, 
Though  all  the  roadside  fields  were  quick  with  toil. 
In  rhythmic  motion  through  the  dewy  grass 
The  mowers  swept,  and  on  the  fragrant  air 
Was  borne  from  far  the  soft,  metallic  clash 
Of  stones  upon  the  steel. 

This  was  the  day 

"  So  memorably  wonderful  and  sweet 
Its  power  of  inspiration  lingers  still, — 
So  full  of  her  dear  presence,  so  divine 
With  the  melodious  breathing  of  her  words, 
AJid  the  Avarrn  radiance  of  her  loving  smile. 
That  tears  fall  readily  as  April  rain 


18  KATHR1NA. 

At  its  recoil"    And  with  tliis  day  there  caine 

The  revelation  and  the  genesis 

Of  a  new  life.     In  intellect  and  heart 

I  ceased  to  be  a  child,  and  grew  a  man. 

By  one  long  leap  I  passed  the  hidden  bound 

That  circumscribed  my  boyhood,  and  henceforth 

Abjured  all  childish  pleasure,  and  took  on 

The  purpose  and  the  burden  of  niy  life. 

We  crossed  the  river — I,  as  in  a  dream  ; 
And  when  I  stood  upon  the  eastern  shore, 
In  the  full  presence  of  the  mountain  pile, 
Strange  tides  of  feeling  thrilled  me,  and  I  wept — 
Wept,  though  I  knew  not  why.     I  could  have  knelt 
On  the  white  sand,  and  prayed.     Within  my  soul 
Prophetic  whispers  breathed  of  coming  power 
And  new  possessions.     Aspiration  swelled 
Like  a  pent  stream  within  a  narrow  chasm, 
That  finds  nor  vent  nor  overflow,  but  swirls 
And  surges  and  retreats,  until  it  floods 
The  springs  that  feed  it.     All  was  chaos  wild, — 
A  chaos  of  fresh  passion,  undefined, 


KAT^RINA.  19 

Deep  in  whose  vortices  of  mist  and  fire 
A  new  world  waited  blindly  for  its  birth, 
I  had  no  words  for  revelation  ; — none 
For  answer,  when  my  mother  pressed  my  hand, 
And  questioned  why  it  trembled.     I  looked  up 
With  tearful  eyes,  and  met  her  loving  smile, 
And  both  of  us  were  silent,  and  passed  on. 

"We  reached  at  length  the  pleasant  cottage-homo 
"Where  dwelt  my  mother's  friend,  and,  at  the  gate, 
Found  her  with  warmest  welcome  waiting  us. 
She  kissed  my  mother's  cheek,  and  then  kissed 

mine, 

Which  shrank,  and  man  tied  with  a  new-born  shame. 
They  crossed  the  threshold  :  I  remained  without, 
Surprised—  half-angry — with  the  burning  blush 
That  still  o'erwhehned  my  face. 

I  looked  around 

For  something  to  divert  nay  vexing  thoughts, 
And  saw  intently  gazing  in  my  eyes, 
From  his  long  tether  in  the  grass,  a  lamb — 
A  lusty,  downy,  handsome,  household  pet.    . 
There  was  a  scarlet  ribbon  on  his  neck 


20  KATH^LNA. 

Which  held  a  silver  bell,  whose  note  I  heard 
First  when  his  eye  met  mine  ;  for  then  he  sprang 
To  greet  me  with  a  joyous  bleat,  and  fell, 
Thrown  by  the  cord  that  held  him.     Pitying  him, 
I  loosed  his  cruel  leashing,  with  intent, 
After  a  half -hour's  frolic,  to  return 
And  fasten  as  I  found  him  ;  but  my  hand, 
Too  careless  of  its  charge,  slipped  from  its  hold 
With  the  first  bound  he  made  ;  and  with  a  leap 
He  cleared  the  garden  wall,  and  flew  away. 

Affrighted  at  my  deed  and  its  mischance, 
I  paused  a  moment — then  with  ready  feet, 
And  flush  and  final  impulse,  I  pursued. 

He  held  the  pathway  to  the  mountain  woods, 

The  tinkle  of  his  bell  already  faint 

In  the  long  distance  he  had  placed  between 

Himself  and  his  pursuer.     On  and  on, 

Climbing  the  mountain  path,  he  sped  away, 

I  following  swiftly,  never  losing  sight 

Of  the  bright  scarlet  streaming  from  his  neck, 

Or  healing  of  the  tinkle  of  his  bell, 


SATHR1NA.  21 

Till,  wearied  both,  and  panting  up  the  steep, 
Our  progress  slackened  to  a  walk. 

At  length 

He  paused  and  looked  at  me,  and  waited  till 
My  foot  had  touched  the  cord  he  dragged,  and 

then 

Bounded  away,  scaling  the  shelvy  cliffs 
That  bolder  rose  along  the  narrow  path. 
He  had  no  choice  but  mount.     I  pressed  him  close, 
And  rocks  and  chasms  were  thick  on  either  side. 
So,  pausing  oft,  but  ever  leaping  on 
Before  my  hand  could  reach  him,  he  advanced. 
JSot  once  in  all  the  passage  had  I  paused 
To  look  below,  nor  had  I  thought  of  her 
Whom  I  had  left.     Absorbed  in  the  pursuit 
I  pressed  it  recklessly,  until  I  grasped 
My  fleecy  prisoner,  wound  and  tied  his  cord 
Around  my  wrist,  and  both  of  us  sank  down 
Upon  the  mountain  summit. 

In  a  swoon 
Oi  breathless  weariness  how  long  I  lay 


23  EATHR1NA. 

I  could  not  know  ;  but  consciousness  at  last 

Came  by  my  brute  companion,  who,  alert 

Among  the  scanty  browse,  tugged  at  my  wrist, 

And  brought  me  startled  to  my  feet.     I  saw 

In  one  swift  SAveep  of  vision  where  I  stood, — 

In  presence  of  what  beauty  of  the  earth, 

What  glory  of  the  sky,  what  majesty 

Of  lofty  loneliness.     I  drew  the  lamb — 

The  dear,  dumb  creature — gently  to  my  side, 

And  led  him  out  upon  the  beetling  cliff 

That  fronts  the  plaided  meadows,  and  knelt  down. 

When  once  the  shrinking,  dizzy  spell  was  gone, 

I  saw  below  me,  like  a  jeweled  cup, 

The  valley  hollowed  to  its  heaven-kissed  lip — 

The  serrate  green  against  the  sen-ate  blue — 

Brimming  with  beauty's  essence  ;  palpitant 

With  a  divine  elixir — lucent  floods 

Poured  from  the  golden  chalice  of  the  sun, 

At  which  my  spirit  drank  with  conscious  growth, 

And  drank  again  with  still  expanding  scope 

Of  comprehension  and  of  faculty. 


KATHR1NA.  23 

I  felt  the  bud  of  being  in  me  burst 

With,  full,  unfolding  petals  to  a  rose, 

And  fragrant  breath  that  flooded  all  the  scene, 

By  sudden  insight  of  myself  I  knew 

That  I  was  greater  than  the  scene, — that  deep 

"Within  my  nature  was  a  wondrous  world, 

Broader  tkan  that  I  gazed  011,  and  informed 

With  a  diviner  beauty, — that  the  things 

I  saw  were  but  the  types  of  those  I  held. 

And  that  above  them  both,  High  Priest  and  King, 

I  stood  supreme,  to  choose  and  to  combine, 

And  bnild  from  that  within  me  and  without 

New  forms  of  life,  with  meaning  of  my  own. 

And  there  alone,  upon  the  mountain-top, 

Kneeling  beside  the  lamb,  I  bowed  my  head 

Beneath  the  chrismal  light,  and  felt  my  sonl 

Baptized  and  set  apart  to  poetry. 

The  spell  of  inspiration  lingered  not; 

Bat  ore  it  passed,  I  knew  my  destiny — 

The  passion  and  the  portion  of  my  life: 

Though,  with  the  new-born  consciousness  of  power, 


24  KATHR1NA. 

and  organising  and  creative  skill, 

There  came  a  sense  of  poverty — a  sense 

Of  power  untrained,  of  sldll  without  resource, 

Of  ignorance  of  Nature  and  her  laws, 

And  language  and  the  learning  of  the  schools. 

I  could  not  rise  upon  rny  callow  wings, 

But  felt  that  I  must  wait  until  the  years 

Should  give  them  plumage,  and  the  skill  for  flight 

Be  won  by  trial. 

Then  before  me  rose 
The  long,  long  years  of  study,  interposed 
Between  me  and  the  goal  that  shone  afar ; 
But  with  them  rose  the  courage  to  surmount, 
Ajid  I  was  girt  for  toil. 

Then,  for  the  first, 

My  eye  and  spirit  that  had  drunk  the  whole 
Wide  vision,  grew  discriminate,  and  traced 
The  crystal  river  pouring  from  the  North 
Its  twinkling  tide,  and  winding  down  the  vale, 
Till,  doubling  in  a  serpent  coil,  it  paused 


KATH1UNA.  25 

Before  the  chasm  that  parts  the  frontal  spurs 
Of  Tom  and  Holyoke  ;  then  in  wreathing  light 
Sped  the  swart  rocks,  and  sought  the  misty  South 
Across  the  meadows — carpet  for  the  gods, 
Woven  of  ripening  rye  and  greening  maize 
And  rosy  clover-blooms,  and  spotted  o'er 
With  the  black  shadows  of  the  feathery  elms — 
Northampton  rose,  half  hidden  in  her  trees, 
Lifted  above  the  level  of  the  fields, 
And  noiseless  as  a  picture. 

At  my  feet 

The  ferry-boat,  diminished  to  a  toy, 
With  atitomatic  diligence  conveyed 
Its  puppet  passengers  between  the  shores 
That  hemmed  its  enterprise  ;  and  one  low  barge, 
With  white,  square  sail,  bore  northward  languidly 
The  slow  and  scanty  commerce  of  the  stream. 

Eastward,  upon  another  fertile  stretch 
Of  meadow-sward  and  tilth,  embowered  in  elms. 
Lay  the  twin  streets,  and  sprang  the  single  spire 
Of  Hadley,  where  the  hunted  regicides 


26  KATHRINA. 

Securely  lived  of  old,  and  strangely  died  ; 
And  eastward  still,  upon  the  last  green  step 
From  which  the  Angel  of  the  Morning  Light 
Leaps  to  the  meadow-lands,  fair  Aniherst  sat, 
Capped  by  her  many-windowed  colleges  ; 
While  from  his  outpost  in  the  rising  North, 
Bald  with  the  storms  and  ruddy  with  the  suns 
Of  the  long  eons,  stood  old  Sugarloaf, 
Gazing  with  changeless  brow  upon  a  scene, 
Changing  to  fairer  beauty  evermore. 

Save  of  the  river  and  my  pleasant  home, 
I  knew  not  then  the  names  and  history 
Borne  by  these  visions  ;  but  upon  my  brain 
Their  forms  were  graved  in  lines  indelible 
As,  on  the  rocks  beneath  my  feet,  the  prints 
Of  life  in  its  first  motion.     Later  years 
Renowed  the  picture,  and  its  outlines  filled 
With  fair  associations, — wrought  the  past 
And  living  present  into  fadeless  wreaths 
That  crowned  each  mound  and  mount,  and  town 
and  tower, 


KATHBINA.  27 

The  king  of  teeming  memories.     Nor  could 
I  guess  with  faintest  foresight  of  the  life 
Which,  in  the  years  before  me,  I  should  weave 
Of  mingled  threads  of  pleasure  and  of  pain 
Into  these  scenes,  until  not  one  of  all 
Could  meet  my  eye,  or  touch  my  memory 
Without  recalling  an  experience 
That  drank  the  sweetest  ichor  of  my  veins, 
Or  crowded  them  with  joy. 

A.t  length  I  turned 

From  the  wide  survey,  and  with  pleased  surprise 
Detected,  nestling  at  the  mountain's  foot, 
The  cottage  I  had  left;  and,  on  the  lawn, 
Two  forms  of  life  that  flitted  to  and  fro. 
I  knew  that  they  had  missed  me;  so  I  sought 
The  passage  I  had  climbed,  and,  with  the  lamb 
Still  fastened  to  my  wrist,  I  hasted  down. 

Full  of  the  marvels  of  the  hour  I  sped, 
Leaping  from  rock  to  rock,  or  flying  swift 
The  smoother  slopes,  with  arms  half  wings,  and 
feet 


o3  KATHB1NA. 

Tliat  on] y  guarded  the  descent,  the  while 

My  captive  led  me  captive  at  Ms  mil. 

So  tense  the  strain  of  sinew,  so  intense 

The  mood  and  motion,  that  before  I  guessed, 

The  headlong  flight  was  finished,  and  I  walked, 

Jaded  and  reeking,  in  the  level  path 

That  led  the  lambkin  home. 

My  mother  saw, 

And  ran  to  meet  me  :  then  for  long,  still  hours, 
Couched  in  a  dim,  cool  room,  I  lay  and  slept. 
When  I  awoke,  I  found  her  at  my  side, 
Fanning  my  face,  and  ready  with  her  smile 
And  soothing  words  to  greet  me.     Then  I  told, 
With  youthful  volubility  and  wild 
Extravagance  of  figure  and  of  phrase, 
My  wild  exploit. 

At  first  she  questioned  me  ; 
But,  as  I  wrought  each  scene  and  circumstance 
Into  consistent  form,  she  drank  my  words 
In  eager  silence  ;  and  within  her  eyes 
T  saw  the  glow  of  pride  which  gravity 


KATHE1NA.  39 

And  show  of  deep  concern  could  not  disguise. 

I  read  lier  bosom  better  than  she  knew. 

I  saw  that  she  had  made  discovery 

Of  something  unsuspected  in  her  child, 

And  that,  by  one  I  loved, — my  dearest,  best, — 

The  fire  that  burned  Avithin  me  and  the  power 

That  morning  called  to  life,  were  recognized. 

When  I  had  told  my  story,  and  had  read 

With  kindling  pride  my  praises  in  her  eyes, 

She  placed  her  soft  hand  on  my  brow,  and  said  : 

"  My  Paul  has  climbed  the  noblest  mountain  higlit 

"  In  all  his  little  world,  and  gazed  on  scenes 

"  As  beautiful  as  lest  beneath  the  sun. 

' ( I  trust  he  will  remember  all  his  life 

"  That  to  his  best  achievement,  and  the  spot 

"  Nearest  to  heaven  his  youthful  feet  hove  trod, 

"  He  has  been  guided  by  a  guileless  lamb. 

"It  is  an  omen  which  his  mother's  heart 

"  Will  treasure  with  her  jewels." 

When  the  SUB 


«0  KATUR1NA. 

Of  the  long  summer  day  hung  but  an  hour 
Above  his  setting,  and  the  cool  West  Wind 
Bore  from  the  purpling  hills  his  benison, 
The  fareAvell  courtesies  of  love  were  given, 
And  we  set  forth  for  home. 

Not  far  we  fared — 

The  river  left  behind — when,  looking  back, 
I  saw  the  mountain  in  the  searching  light 
Of  the  low  sun.     Surcharged  with  youthful  pride 
In  my  adventure,  I  can  ne'er  forget 
The  disappointment  and  chagrin  which  fell 
Upon  me  ;  for  a  change  had  passed.     The  steep 
Which  in  the  morning  sprang  to  kiss  the  sun, 
Had  left  the  scene  ;  and  in  its  place  I  saw 
A  shrunken  pile,  whose  paths  my  steps  had  climbed, 
Whose  proudest  hight  my  humble  feet  had  trod. 
Its  grand  impossibilities  and  all 
Its  store  of  marvels  and  of  mysteries 
Were  flown  away,  and  would  not  be  recalled. 
The  mountain's  might  had  entered  into  me  ; 
And,  from  that  fruitful  hour,  whatever  scene 


KATHEINA.  81 

Nature  revealed  to  me,  she  never  caught 
My  spirit  humbled  by  surprise.     My  thcmght 
Built  higher  mountains  than  I  ever  found  ; 
Poured  wilder  cataracts  than  I  ever  saw  ; 
Drove  grander  storms  than  ever  swept  the  sky  ; 
Pushed  into  loftier  heavens  and  lower  hells 
Than  tli£  abysmal  reach  of  light  and  dark  ; 
And  entertained  me  with  diviner  feasts 
Than  ever  met  the  appetite  of  sense, 
And  poured  me  wine  of  choicer  vintages 
Than  fire  the  hearts  of  kings. 

The  frolic  llamo 

Which  in  the  morning  kindled  in  my  veins 
Had  died  away  ;  and  at  my  mother's  side 
I  walked  in  quiet  mood,  and  gravely  spoke 
Of  the  great  future.     With  a  tender  quest 
My  mother  probed  my  secret  wish,  and  heard, 
With  silence  new  and  strange  respectfulness, 
The  revelation  of  my  plans.     I  felt 
In  her  benign  attention  to  my  words  ; 
In  her  suggestions,  clothed  with  gracious  pliraso 


33  KATHRINA. 

To  \vin  my  judgment ;  and  in  all  those  shades 

Of  mien  and  manner  which  a  mother's  love 

Inspires  so  quickly,  when  the  form  it  nursed 

Becomes  a  staff  in  its  caressing  hand, 

She  had  made  space  for  me,  and  placed  her  life 

In  new  relations  to  my  own.     I  knew 

That  she  who  through  my  span  of  tender  years 

Had  counseled  me,  had  given  me  privilege 

Within  her  councils  ;  and  the  moment  canie 

I  learned  that  in  the  converse  of  that  hour, 

The  appetency  of  maternity 

For  manhood  in  its  offspring,  had  laid  hold 

C*  tlio  fresh  groAvth  in  me,  and  feasted  well 

Its  gentle  passion. 

Ere  we  reached  our  home, 
The  plans  for  study  were  matured,  and  I, 
Who,  with  an  aptitude  beyond  niy  years, 
Had  gathered  learning's  humbler  rudiments 
From  her  to  whom  I  owed  my  earliest  words, 
Was,  when  another  day  should  rise,  to  pass 
To  rougher  teaching,  and  society 


KATHR1NA,  33 

Of  the  rude  youth  whose  wild  and  boisterous  ways 
Had  scared  my  childish  life. 

I  nerved  my  heart 

To  meet  the  change  ;  and  all  the  troubled  night 
I  tossed  upon  my  pillow,  filled  with  fears, 
Or  fired  with  hot  ambitions  ;  shrinking  oft 
"With  girlish  sensitiveness  from  the  lot 
My  manly  heart  had  chosen  ;  rising  oft 
Above  my  cowardice,  well  panoplied 
By  fancy  to  achieve  great  victories 
O'er  those  whose  fellows  I  should  be. 

At'last, 

The  dawn  looked  in  upon  me,  and  I  rose 
To  meet  its  golden  coming,  and  the  life 
Of  golden  promise  whose  wide  open  doors 
Waited  my  feet. 

The  lingering  morning  hours 
Seemed  days  of  painful  waiting,  as  they  fell 
In  slowly  filling  numbers  from  the  tower 


84  KATHR1NA. 

Of  the  old  village  cliurch  ;  but  when,  at  length, 
My  eager  feet  had  touched  the  street,  and  turned 
To  climb  the  goodly  eminence  where  he 
In  whose  profound  and  stately  pages  live 
His  country's  annals,  ruled  his  youthful  realm, 
My  heart  grew  stern  and  strong  ;  and  nevermore 
Did  doubt  of  excellence  and  mastery 
Drag  down  my  soaring  courage,  or  disturb 
My  purposes  and  plans. 

What  boots  it  hero 
To  tell  with  careful  chronicle  the  life 
Of  my  novitiate  ?     Up  the  graded  months 
My  feet  rose  slowly,  but  with  steady  step, 
To  tall  and  stalwart  manliness  of  frame, 
And  ever  rising  and  expanding  reach 
Of  intellection  and  the  power  to  call 
Forth  from  the  pregnant  nothingness  of  words 
The  sphered  creations  of  my  chosen  art. 
What  boots  it  to  recount  my  victories 
Over  my  fellows,  or  to  tell  how  all, 
Contemptuous  at  first,  becams  at  length 


EATHR1NA.  35 

Confessed  inferiors  in  every  strife 

When  brain  or  braAra  contended  ?    Victories 

Were  won  too  easily  to  bring  ine  pride, 

And  only  bred  contempt  of  the  low  pitch 

And  lower  purpose  of  the  power  which  strove 

So  feebly  and  so  clumsily.     When  won, 

They  fed  my  mother's  passion,  and  she  praised  ; 

And  her  delight  was  all  the  boon  they  brought. 

My  fierce  ambition,  ever  reaching  up. 

To  higher  fields  and  nobler  combatants, 

Trampled  its  triumphs  underneath  its  feet ; 

And  in  my  heart  of  hearts  I  pitied  her 

To  whose  deep  hunger  of  maternal  pride 

They  bore  ambrosial  ministry. 

In  all 

These  years  of  doing  and  development, 

My  heart  was  haunted  by  a  bitter  pain. 

In  eveiy  scene  of  pleasure,  eveiy  hour 

That  lacked  employment,  every  moment's  lull 

Of  toil  or  study,  its  familiar  hand 

Was  raised  aloft,  to  smite  me  with  its  pang. 


36  KATHR1NA. 

From  month  to  month,  from  year  to  year,  I  saw 
That  she  who  bore  me,  and  to  whom  I  owed 
The  m«ek  and  loyal  reverence  of  a  child, 
Was  changing  places  with  me,  and  that  she — 
Dependent,  trustful  and  subordinate — 
Deferred  to  me  in  all  things,  and  in  all 
Gave  me  the  parent's  place  and  took  the  child's. 
She  waited  for  my  coming  like  a  child  ; 
She  ran  to  meet  and  greet  me  like  a  child  ; 
She  leaned  on  me  for  guidance  and  defense, 
And  lived  in  me,  and  by  me,  like  a  child. 
If  I  were  absent  long  beyond  my  wont, 
She  yielded  to  distresses  and  to  tears  ; 
And  when  I  came,  she  flew  into  my  arms 
With  childish  impulse  of  delight,  or  chid 
With  weak  complainings  my  delay. 

By  these, 

And  by  a  thousand  other  childish  ways, 
I  knew  disease  was  busy  with  her  life, 
Working  distempers  in  her  heart  and  brain, 
And  driving  her  for  succor  to  my  strength. 


AND  WHEN  I  CAME,  SUE  FLEW  INTO  JIY  AKMS. 


KATHR1NA.  37 

The    change    was  great    in    her,   though    slowly 

wrought, — 
Though  wrought  so  slowly  that  my  thought  and 

life 

Had  been  adjusted  to  it,  but  for  this  : — 
One  dismal  night,  a  trivial  accident 
Had  kept  me  from  my  home  beyond  the  hour 
At  which  my  promise  stood  for  my  return. 
Arriving  at  the  garden  gate,  I  paused 
To  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  accustomed  light, 
Through  the  cold  mist  that  wrapped  me,  but  in. 

vain. 

Only  one  window  glimmered  through  the  gloom, 
Through  whose  uncurtained  panes  I  dimly  saw 
My  mother  hi  her  chamber.     She  was  clad 
In  the  white  robe  of  rest ;  but  to  and  fro 
She    crossed    the    light,    sometimes    with    hands 

pressed  close 
Upon    her   brow,    sometimes    raised   up    toward 

heaven, 

As  if  hi  deprecation  or  despair; 
And  through  the  strident  soughing  of  the  olm 


y8  KATRR1NA. 

I  hoard  her  voice  still  musical  in  woe, 
Wailing  and  calling. 

With  a  noiseless  step 

I  reached  the  door,  and,  with  a  noiseless  key, 
Turned  back  the  bolt,  and  stood  within.     I  could 
Have  called  her  to  my  arms,  and  quelled  her  fears 
By  one  dear  word,  and  yet,  I  spoke  it  not. 
I  longed  to  learn  her  secret,  and  to  know 
In  what  recess  of  histoiy  or  heart 
It  hid,  and  wrought  her  awful  malady. 

Not  long  I  waited,  when  I  heard  her  voice 
Wail  out  again  in  wild,  beseeching  prayer, — 
Her  voice  so  sweet  and  soiuful,  that  it  seemed 
As  if  a  listening  fiend  could  not  refuse 
Such  help  as  in  him  lay,  although  her  tongue 
Should  falter  to  articulate  her  pain. 

I  heard  her  voice — O  God  !  I  heard  her  words  ! 
'  Not  bolts  of  burning  from  the  vengeful  sky 
Had  scathed  or  stunned  me  more.     I  shook  like  one 


KATHR1NA.  39 

Powerless  within  the  toils  of  some  great  sin, 

Or  some  o'evmastering  passion  ;  or  like  one 

Wliose  veins  turn  ice  at  onset  of  tlie  plague. 

" O  God,"  she  said,  "my  Father  and  my  Friend  ! 

"  Spare  him  to  me,  and  save  me  from  myself  ! 

"  O  !  if  thou  help  me  not — if  thou  forsake — 

"This  hand  which  thou  hast  made,  will  take  the 

life 

"  Thou  madst  the  hand  to  feed.     I  cling  to  him, 
"  My  son, — my  boy.     If  danger  come  to  him, 

.  "No  one  is  left  to  save  me  from  this  crime. 
"  Thou  knowest,  O  !  my  God,  how  I  have  striven 
"  To  quench  the  awful  impulse  ;  how,  in  vain, 
"My  prayers  have  gone  before  thee,  for  release 
"  From  the  foul  demon  who  would  drive  my  soul 
"  To  crime  that  leaves  no  space  for  penitence  ! 
"  O  !  Father  !  Father  !    Hear  me  when  I  call ! 
"  Hast  thou  not  made  me  ?    Am  I  not  thy  child  ? 
"Why,  why  this  mad,  mysterious  desire 
"  To  follow  him  I  loved,  by  the  dark  door 
"Through  which  he  forced   his  passage  to  the 
realm 


40  KATR1UNA. 

"  That  death  throws  -wide  to  all  ?    O  why  must  I, 
"A  poor,  weak  woman — " 

I  could  hear  no  more, 

But  dropped  my  dripping  cloak,  and,  with  a  voice, 
Toned  to  its  tenderest  cadence,  I  pronounced 
The  sweet  word,  "mother  !" 

Her  excess  of  joy 

Burst  in  a  cry,  and  in  a  moment's  space 
I  sat  within  her  room,  and  she,  my  child, 
Was  sobbing  in  my  arms.     I  spoke  no  word, 
But  sat  distracted  with  my  tenderness 
For  her  who  threw  herself  upon  my  heart 
In  perfect  trust,  and  bitter  thoughts  of  Him 
Whose  succor,  though  importunately  sought 
In  piteous  pleadings  by  a  gentle  saint, 
Was  grudgingly  withheld.     Her  closing  words  : 
"  O  !  why  must  I,  a  poor,  weak  woman — "  rang 
Through  every  chamber  of  my  tortured  soul, 
And  called  to  conclave  and  rebellion  all 
The  black-browed  passions  thitherto  restrained. 


KATHR1NA.  41 

Ay,  why  should  she,  who  only  sought  for  God 

Be  given  to  a  devil  ?    Why  should  she 

Who  begged  for  bread  be  answered  with  a  stone  ? 

Ay,  why  should  she  whose  soul  recoiled  from  sin 

As  from  a  fiend,  find  in  her  heart  a  fiend 

To  urge  the  sin  she  hated  ? — questions  all 

The  fiends  within  me  answered  as  they  would. 

O  God  !  O  Father  !    How  I  hated  thee  ! 

Nay,  how  within  my  angry  soul  I  dared 

To  curse  thy  sacred  name  ! 

Then  other  thoughts — 
Thoughts  of  myself  and  of  my  destiny — 
Succeeded.     Who  and  what  was  I  ?    A  youth, 
Doomed  by  hereditary  taint  to  crime, — 
A  youth  whose  every  artery  and  vein 
Was  doubly  charged  with  suicidal  blood. 
When  the  full  consciousness  of  what  I  was 
Possessed  my  thought,  and  I  gazed  down  the  abyss 
God  had  prepared  for  me,  I  shrank  aghast ; 
And  there  in  silence,  with  an  awful  oath 
T  dare  not  write,  I  swore  my  will  was  mine, 


42  KATHR1NA. 

And  mine  my  hand  ;  and  that,  though  all  the  fiends 
That  cumber  hell  and  overrun  the  earth 
Should  spur  the  deadly  impulse  of  my  blood, 
And  heaven  withhold  the  aid  I  would  not  ask  ; 
Though  woes  unnumbered  should  beset  my  life, 
And  reason  fall,  and  uttermost  despair 
Hold  me  a  hopeless  prisoner  in  its  glooms, 
I  would  resist  and  conquer,  and  live  out 
My  complement  of  years.     My  bosom  burned 
With  fierce  defiance,  and  the  angry  blood 
Leaped  from  my  heart,  and  boomed  within   my 

brain 
With  throbs  that  stunned  me,  though  each  fiery 

thrill 

Was  charged  with  tenderness  for  her  whose  head 
Was  pillowed  on  its  riot. 

Long  I  sat — 

How  long  I  know  not — but  at  last  the  sad, 
Hysteric  sobs  and  suspirations  ceased, 
Or  only  at  wide  intervals  recurred  ; 

then  I  rose,  and  to  her  waiting  bed 


KATUR1NA.  43 

Led  my  doomed  mother.     With  a  cheerful  voice- 
Cheerful  us  I  could  summon — and  a  kiss, 
I  bade  her  a  good  night  and  pleasant  dreams  ; 
And  then,  across  the  hall,  I  sought  my  room 
Where  neither  sleep  nor  dream  awaited  me, 
But  only  blasphemous,  black  thoughts,  and  strife 
With  God  and  Destiny. 

I  saw  it  all : 

The  lamp  that  from  my  mother's  window  beamed, 
'Illumined  other  nights  and  other  storms, 
And  by  its  lurid  light  revealed  to  me 
The  secrets  of  a  life.     Her  sudden  Jiangs, 
Her  brooding  woes,  her  terrors  when  alone, 
The  strange  surrender  of  her  will  to  mine, 
Her  hunger  for  my  presence,  and  her  fear 
That  by  some  slip  of  fortune  she  should  lose 
Her  hold  on  me,  were  followed  to  their  home — 
To  her  poor  heart,  that  fluttered  every  hour 
With  conscious  presence  of  an  enemy 
That  "would  not  be  expelled,  and  strove  to  spill 
The  life  it  spoiled. 


44  KATHE1NA. 

Prom  that  eventful  night 
She  was  not  left  alone.     I  called  a  friend, 
A  cheerful  lady,  whose  companionship 
Was  music,  medicine  and  rest ;  and  she, 
Wanting  a  home,  and  with  a  ready  wit 
Learning  my  mother's  need  and  my  desire, 
Assumed  the  place  of  matron  in  the  house  ; 
And,  in  return  for  what  we  gave  to  her, 
Gave  us  herself. 

My  mother's  confidence, 
By  her  self-confidence,  she  quickly  won  ; 
And  thus,  though  sadly  burdened  at  my  heart, 
I  found  one  burden  lifted  from  my  hands. 
More  liberty  of  movement  and  of  toil 
I  needed  ;  for  the  time  was  drawing  near 
When  I  should  turn  my  feet  toward  other  halls, 
To  seek  maturer  study,  and  complete 
The  work  of  ciilture  faithfully  begun. 

Into  my  mother's  ear  I  breathed  my  plans 
With  careful  words.     The  university 


KATHR1NA.  45 

Was  |jpt  a  short  remove — a  morning's  -walk — 
Away  from  her  ;  and  ever  at  her  -wish — 
Nay,  always  when  I  could — I  would  return  ; 
And  separation  would  but  sweeten  love, 
And  joy  of  meeting  recompense  the  pain 
Of  parting  and  of  absence. 

She  was  calm, 

And  leaning  in  her  thought  upon  her  friend, 
Gave  her  consent.     So,  on  a  summer  day, 
I  kissed  her  faded  cheek,  and  turned  from  home 
To  seek  the  college  halls  that  I  had  seen 
From  boyhood's  mount  of  vision. 

Of  the  years 

Passed  there  in  study — of  the  rivalries, 
The  long,  stern  struggles  for  pre-eminence, 
The  triumphs  hardly  won,  but  won  at  last 
Beyond  all  cavil,  matters  not  to  tell. 
It  was  my  grief  that  while  I  gained  and  grew, 
My  mother  languished  momently,  and  lost, — 
A  grief  that  turned  to  poison  in  my  blood. 


4G  KATHR1NA. 

The  college  prayers  were  mum  merles  to  me,« 

And  with  disdainful  passion  I  repelled 

All  Christian  questionings  of  heart  and  life, 

By  old  and  young. 

I  stood,  I  moved  alone. 
I  sought  no  favors,  took  no  courtesies 
With  grateful  grace,  and  nursed  my  haughty  pride. 
The  men  who  kneeled  and  gloomed,  and  prayed 

and  sang, 

Seemed  but  a  brood  of  dullards,  whom  contempt 
"Would  honor  overmuch.     No  tender  spot 
Was  left  within  my  indurated  heart, 
Save  that  -which  moved  with  ever-melting  ruth 
For  her  whose  breast  had  nursed  me,  and  whose 

love 

Had  given  my  life  the  only  happiness 
It  yet  had  known. 

With  her  I  kept  my  pledge 
With  more  than  faithful  punctuality. 
Few  weeks  passed  by  in  all  those  busy  years 


KATHR1NA.  47 

In  which  I  did  not  walk  the  way  between 
The  college  and  my  home,  and  bear  to  her 
Such  consolation  as  my  presence  gave. 
In  truth,  my  form  was  as  familiar  grown 
To  all  the  rustic  dwellers  on  the  road 
As  I  had  been  a  post-boy. 

Little  joy 

These  visits  won  for  me — little  beyond 
That  which  I  found  in  bearing  joy  to  her — 
For  eveiy  year  marked  on  her  slender  frame, 
And  on  her  cheeks,  and  on  her  failing  brain. 
Its  record  of  decadence.     I  could  see 
That  she* was  sinking  into  helplessness, 
And  that  too  soon  her  inoffensive  soul, 
With  all  its  sweet  affections,  would  go  down 
To  hopeless  wreck  and  darkness. 

From  her  friend 

I  learned  that  still  the  burden  of  her  prayer 
Was,  that  she  might  be  saved  from  one  great  sin— 
The  sin  of  self-destruction.     Every  hour 


48  KATHR1NA. 

This  oue  petition  struggled  from  her  heart, 
To  reach  the  ear  of  heaven  ;  yet  never  help 
Came  down  in  answer  to  her  cry. 

The  Spring 

That  ushered  in  my  closing  college  year 
Came  up  the  valley  on  her  balmy  wings, 
And  Winter  fled  away,  and  left  no  trace, 
Save  here  and  there  a  snowy  drift,  to  show 
Where  his  cold  feet  had  rested  in  their  flight. 
But  one  still  night,  within  the  span  of  sleep, 
A  shivering  winter  cloud  that  wandered  late, 
Shook  to  the  frosty  ground  its  inch  of  rime. 
So,  when  the  morning  rose,  the  earth  wa,§  white  ; 
And  shrubs  and  trees,  and  roofs  and  rocks  and 

walls, 

Fulgent  with  downy  crystals,  made  a  world 
To  which  a  breath  were  rain  ;  and  a  breath 
Wrecked  it  for  me,  and,  by  a  few  sad  words, 
Blotted  the  sunlit  splendor  from  my  sight. 

As  I  looked  out  upon  the  scene,  and  mused 


KATIIR1NA.  49 

Of  her  to  wh6"ni  I  Loped  it  might  impart 
Some  healthy  touch  of  joy,  I  heard  the  beat 
Of  hoofs  upon  the  trackless  blank,  and  saw 
A  horseman  speeding  up  the.  avenue. 
I  raised  my  sash,  (I  knew  he  came  for  me,) 
And  faltered  forth  my  question.     From  his  breast 
He  drew  a  folded  slip  :  dismounting  then, 
He  stooped  and  pressed-  the  missive  in  a  mass 
Of  clinging  snow,  and  tossed  it  to  my  hand. 
I  closed  the  window,  burst  the  frosty  seal, 
And  read  :     "Your  mother  cannot  long  survive  • 
Come  home  to  her  to-day. "     I  did  not  pause 
To  break  the  fast  of  night,  but  rushing  forth, 
I  followed  close  the  messenger's  return. 


It  was  a  morning,  such  as  comes  but  once 
In  all  the  Spring, — so  still  and  beautiful, 
So  full  of  promise,  so  exliilarant 
With  frost  and  fire,  in  earth  and  air,  that  life 
Had  been  a  brimming  joy  but  for  the  scene 
That  waited  for  my  eyes — the  scene  of  death — 


50  KATIIE1NA. 

From  which  imagination  staggered  back, 
And  every  sensibility  recoiled. 


The  smoke  from  distant  sugar-camps  rolled  up 
Through,  the  still  ether  in  columnar  coils — 
Blue  pillars  of  a  bluer  dome — and.  all 
The  resonant  air  was  full  of  sounds  of  Spring. 
The  sheep  were  bleating  round  their  empty  ricks ; 
Horses  let  loose  were  calling  from  afar, 
And  winning  fierce  replies  ;  the  axeman's  blows 
Fell  nimbly  at  the  piles  which  wintry  woods 
Had  lent  to  summer  stores  ;  while  far  and  faint, 
The  rhythmic  uhilatioiis  of  the  hound 
On  a  fresh  trail,  upon  the  mountain's  side, 
Added  their  strange  Avild  music  to  the  morn. 

The  beauty  and  the  music  caught  my  sense, 
But  woke  within  my  sick  and  sinking  heart 
No  motion  of  response.     I  walked  as  one 
Condemned  to  dungeon-glooms  might  walk 
Through  shouts  of  mirth,  and  festal  pageantry. 
Hearing  and  seeing  all,  yet  over  all 


.    KATHR1NA.  51 

Hearing  the  clank  of  chains  and  clash  of  bars, 
And  seeing  but  the  reptiles  of  his  cell. 

How  I  arrived  at  home,  without  fatigue, 
Without  a  thought  of  effort — onward  borne 
By  one  absorbing  and  impelling  thought— 
As  one  within  a  minute's  inete  may  slide, 
O'er  leagues  of  sunny  dreamland  in  a  dream, 
By  magic  or  by  miracle — I  found 
No  time  to  question. 

At  my  mother's  tTbor 

I  stood  and  listened  :  soon  I  heard  my  name 
Pronounced  within  in  spiteful  whisperings. 
I  raised  the  latch,  and  met  her  burning  eyes. 
She  stared  a  Avild,  mad  stare,  then  raised  herself, 
And  in  weak  fury  poured  upon  my  head 
The  vials  of  her  wrath.     I  stood  like  stone, 
Without  the  power  to  speak,  the  while  she  rained 
Her  maledictions  on  me,  and  in  words 
Eit  only  for  the  damned,  accused  my  life 
Of  crimes  my  language  could  not  name,  and  deeds; 
Which  only  outcast  wretches  know. 


52  KATHR1NA. 

At  length 

I  gained  my  tongue,  and  tried  to  take  her  hand  ; 
But  with  a  shriek  which  cut  me  like  a  knife 
She  shrank  from  me,  and  hid  her  quivering  fact* 
"Within  her  pillow. 

Then  I  turned  away, 

And  sought  the  room  where  oft  in  better  days 
We  both  had  knelt  together  at  my  bed, 
And,  making  fast  my  door,  I  threw  myself 
Prone  on  the  precious  couch,  and  gave  to  grief 
My  strong  and  stormy  nature.     All  the  day 
With  bursts  of  passion  I  bewailed  my  loss, 
Or  lay  benumbed  in  feeling  and  in  thought, 
Tasting  no  food,  and  shutting  out  my  soul 
From  all  approach  of  human  sympathy, 
Till    the  light  waned,    and    through   the   leafless 

boughs 
Of  the  old  elni  I  caught  the  sheen  of  stars. 

Then  sleep  descended — such  a  sleep  as  comes 
To  uttermost  exhaustion, — sleep  with  dreams 


KATHR1NA.  53 

Wild  as  the  waking  fantasies  of  her 

Whose  screams  and  incoherent  words  gave  voice 

To  all  their  phantom  brood. 

At  length  I  woke. 

The  house  was  still  as  death  ;  and  yet  I  heard, 
Or  thought  I  heard,  the  touch  of  crafty  feet 
Upon  the  carpet,  creeping  by  my  door. 
It  passed  away,  away ;  and  then  a  paiise, 
Still  and  presageful  as  the  breathless  calm 
,  On  which  the  storm-cloud  mounts  the  pallid  West, 
Succeeded.     I  could  hear  the  parlor-clock 
Counting  the  beaded  silence,  and  my  bed, 
Bustling  beneath  my  breathing  and  my  pulse, 
Was  sharply  crepitant,  and  gave  me  pain. 

An  hour  passed  by,  (it  loitered  like  an  age,) 
And  then  came  hurried  words  and  hasty  fall 
Of  footsteps  in  the  passage.     I  could  hear 
Screams,   sobs,    and  whispered   calls  and  closing 

doors, 
And  heavy  feet  that  jarred  my  bed,  and  shook 


54  KATHR1NA. 

The  windows  of  iny  room.     I  did  not  stir  : 
I  dared  not  stir,  but  lay  in  deathly  dread, 
Waiting  the  dread  denouement.     Soon  it  came. 
A  man  approached  ray  door,  and  tried  the  latch  ; 
Then  knocked,  and  called.     I  knew  the  kindly  voice 
Of  the  physician,  and  threw  back  the  bolt. 
Then  by  the  light  he  held  before  his  face 
I  read  the  fact  of  death. 

I  took  his  arm, 

And,  as  I  feebly  staggered  down  the  stairs, 
He  broke  to"  me  with  lack  of  useless  words 
The  awful  truth.     .     .     .     The  old  familiar  tale  : 
She  counterfeited  sleep  :  the  nurses  both, 
Weary  with  over-watching  in  their  chairs, 
Under  the  cumbrous  stillness,  slept  indeed  ; 
And  when  she  knew  it,  she  escaped  ;  and  then 
She  did  the  deed  to  which  for  many  years 
She  had  been  predisposed.     Perhaps  I  knew 
The  nature  of  the  case  :  perhaps  I  knewr 
My  father  went  that  way.     I  clutched  his  arm  : 
There  was  no  need  of  words. 


— THE  TOUCH  op  CRAFTY  FEET 

UPON  THE  CARPET,  CHEEPING  BY  MY  BOOK. 


KATHR1NA.  55 

The  parlor  door 

Stood  open,  and  a  throng  of  silent  friends, 
Choking  with  tears,  gazed  on  a  silent  form 
Shrouded  in  snowy  linen.     They  made  way 
For  me  and  my  companion.     On  my  knees 
I  clasped  the  precious  clay,  and  pouring  forth 
My  pitying  love  and  tenderness  for  her, 
I  gave  indignant  voice  to  my  complaint 
Against  the  Being  who,  to  all  her  prayers, 
For  succor  and  secuiity,  had  turned 
A  deaf,  dead  ear  and  a  repelling  hand. 


To  what  blaspheming  utterance  I  gave 
My  raving  passion,  may  the  God  I  cursed 
Forbid  my  shrinking  memory  to  recall ! 
I  now  remember  only  that  when  drawn 
By  strong,  determined  hands  away  from  her, 
The  room  was  vacant.     Every  pitying  friend 
Had  flown  my  presence  and  the  room,  to  find 
Release  of  sensibility  from  words 
That  roused  their  superstitious  souls  to  fear 


56  KATHE1XA. 

That  God  would  smite  me  tlirough  the  blinding 

smoke 
Of  my  great  torment. 

Silence,  for  the  rest ! 
It  was  a  dream  ;  and  only  as  a  dream 
Do  I  remember  it  :  the  coffined  form, 
The  funeral — a  concourse  of  the  town — 
The  trembling  prayer  for  me,  the  choking  sobs, 
The  long  procession,  the  descending  clods, 
The  slow  return,  articulated  all 
With  wild,  mad  words  of  mine,  and  gentle  speech 
Of  those  who  sought  to  curb  or  comfort  me — 
Al^  was  a  dream,  from  which  I  woke  at  length 
With  heart  as  dead  as  hers  who  slept.     The  heavens 
Were  brass  above  me,  and  the  breathing  world 
WTas  void  and  meaningless.     When  told  to  pray, 
This  was  the  logic  of  my  heart's  reply  : 
If  God  be  Love,  not  such  is  he  to  me 
Nor  such  to  mine.     If  He  heard  not  the  voice 
Of  such  a  lovely  saint  as  she  I  mourned, 
Mine  would  but  rouse  His  vengeance. 


KATHR1NA.  57 

• 
So  I  closed 

With  Season's  hand  the  adamantine  doors 
Which  only  Faith  unlocks,  and  shut  my  soul 
Away  from  God,  the  warder  of  a  gang 
Of  passions  that  in  darkness  stormed  or  gloomed  ; 
And  with  each  other  fought,  or  on  themselves 
Gnawed  for  the  nourisliraent  which  I  denied. 


C  0  MP  LAIN  T. 


KIVEK,  sparkling  river,  I  have  fault  to  find  with 

thee : 

Eiver,  thou  dost  never  give  a  word  of  peace  to  me  ! 
Dimpling  to  each  touch  of  sunshine,  wimpling   to 

each  air  that  blows, 
Thou  dost  make  no  sweet  replying  to  my  sighing 

for  repose. 

Flowers  of  mount  aud  meadow,  I  have  fault  to  find 

with  you ; 
So  the  breezes  cross  and  toss  you,  so  your  cups  are 

filled  with  dew, 
Matters  not  though  sighs  give  motion  to  the  ocean 

of  your  breath  ; 
Mattel's  not  though  you  are  filling  with  the  chilling 

drops  of  death  ! 


KATHEINA.  59 

Birds  of  song  and  beauty,  lo  !  I  charge  jou  all  with 

blame  : — 
Though  all  hapless  passions  thrill  and  fill  rne,  you 

are  still  the  same. 

I  can  borrow  for  my  sorrow  nothing  that  avails 
From  your  lonely  note,  that  only  speaks  of  joy  that 

never  fails. 

O  !  indifference  of  Nature  to  the  fact  of  human  pain  ! 
Every  grief  that  seeks  relief  entreats  it  at  her  hand 

in  vain  ; 
Not  a  bird  speaks  forth  its  passion,  not  a  river  seeks 

the  sea, 
Nor  a  flower  from  wreaths  of  Summer  breathes  in 

sympathy  with  me. 

O  !  the  rigid  rock  is  frigid,  though  its  bed  be  sum 
mer  mould, 

And  the  diamond  glitters  ever  in  the  grasp  of 
changeless  gold  ; 

And  the  laws  that  bring  the  seasons  swing  their 
cycles  as  they  must, 


60  KATHEINA. 

Though  the  ample  road  they  trample  blind  the 
eyes  with  human  dust. 

Moons  will  wax  in  argent  glory,  though  man  wane 

to  hopeless  gloom  ; 
Stars  will  sparkle  in  their  splendor,   though  he 

darkle  to  his  doom  ; 
Winds  of  heaven  he  calls,  to  fan  him,  ban  him  with 

an  icy  chill, 
And  the  shifting  crowds  of  clouds  go  drifting  o'er 

him  as  they  will. 

Yet  within  my  inmost  spirit  I  can  hear  an  under 
tone, 

That  by  law  of  prime  relation  holds  these  voices  as 
its  own, — 

The  full  tonic  whose  harmonic  grandeurs  rise 
through  Nature's  words, 

From  the  ocean's  thundrous  rolling  to  the  trolling 

of  the  birds. 
t 

Spirit,  O  !  my  spirit !    Is  it  thou  art  out  of  tune  ? 


KATHK1NA.  61 

Art  tliou  clinging  to  December  while  the  earth  is 

in  its  June '? 
Host  thou  dropped  thy  part  in  nature  ?    Hast  thou 

touched  another  key  ? 
Art  thou  angry  that  the  anthem  will  not,  cannot, 

wait  for  thee  ? 

Spirit,  thou  art  left  alone — alone  on  waters  wild  ; 
For  God  is  gone,  and  .Love  is  dead,  and  Nature 

spurns  her  child. 
Thou  art  drifting  in  a  deluge,  waves  below  and 

clouds  above, 
And  with  weary  wings  come  back  to  thee,  thy 

raven  and  thy  dove. 


PART  II. 


L  0  VE. 

As  from  a  deep,  dead  sea,  by  drastic  lift 
Of  pent  volcanic  fires,  the  dripping  form 
Of  a  new  island  swells  to  meet  the  air, 
And  after  months  of  idle  basking,  feels 
The  prickly  feet  of  life  from  countless  germs 
Creeping  along  its  sides,  and  reaching  up 
In  fern  and  fl'ower  to  the  life-giving  sun, 
So  from  my  grief  I  rose,  and  so  at  length 
I  felt  new  life  returning  :  so  I  felt 
The  life  already  wakened  stretching  forth 
To  stronger  light  and  purer  atmosphere. 
But  most  I  longed  for  human  love — the  source 


KATRRINA.  63 

(So  sadly  closed,)  from  which  my  life  had  drawn 
Its  sweetest  inspiration  and  reward. 
I  could  not  pray,  nor  could  my  spirit  win 
From  sights  and  sounds  of  nature  the  response 
It  vainly  yearned  for.     They  assailed  my  sense 
With  senseless  seeming  of  the  hum  and  whirl 
Of  vast  machinery,  whose  motive  power 
Sought  its  own  ends,  or  wrought  for  ministry 
To  other  life  than  mine. 

I  could  stand  still, 

And  see  the  trains  sweep  by  ;  could  hear  the  roar 
Of  thundering  wheels ;    could  watch  the  pearly 

plumes 

That  floated  where  they  flew ;  could  catch  a  glimpse 
Of  thousand  happy  faces  at  the  glass  ; 
But  felt  that  all  their  freighted  life  and  wealth 
Were  naught  to  me,  and  moved  toward  other  souls 
In  other  latitudes. 

A  year  had  flown, 
And  more,  when,  on  a  Sunday  morn  in  June, 


64        „  KATHR1NA. 

I  wandered  out  to  wear  away  the  hours 

Of  growing  restlessness.     The  worshipers 

Were  thronging  to  the  service  of  the  day, 

And  gave  me  sidelong  stare,  or  shunned  me  quite, 

As  if  they  knew  me  for  a  reprobate, 

And  feared  a  taint  of  death. 

I  took  the  road 

That  eastward  cleft  the  town,  and  sought  the  bridge 
That  spanned  the  river,  reaching  which  I  crossed. 
Theii  deep  within  the  stripes  of  springing  corn 
I  found  the  shadow  of  an  elm,  and  lay 
Stretched  on  the  downy  grass  for  listless  hours, 
Dreaming  of  days  gone  by,  or  turning  o'er 
With  careless  hand  the  pages  of  a  book 
I  had  brought  with  me. 

Tired  at  length  I  rose, 

And,  touched  by  some  light  impulse,  moved  along 
The  old  familiar  road.     I  loitered  on 
In  a  blind  revery,  nor  marked  the  while 
The  furlongs  or  the  time,  until  the  spell 


KATHRltfA.  65 

In  a  fall  burst  of  music  was  dissolved. 

I  startled  as  one  startles  from  a  dream, 

And  saw  the  church  of  Hadley,  from  whose  doors, 

Opened  to  summer  air,  the  choral  hymn 

Poured  out  its  measured  tides,  and  rose  and  fell 

Upon  the  silence  in  broad  cadences, 

As  from  a  far,  careering  sea,  the  waves 

Lift  into  silver  sweUs  the  sleeping  breasts 

Of  land-locked  bays. 

I  heard  the  sound  of  flutes, 
And  hoarse,  sonorous  viols,  in  accord 
With  happy  human  voices, — and  one  voice — 
A  woman's  or  an  angel's — that  compelled 
My  feet  to  swift  approach.     A  thread  of  gold, 
Through  all  the  web  of  sound,  I  followed  it 
Till,  by  the  stress  of  some  strange  sympathy, 
And  by  no  act  of  will,  I  joined  my  voice 
To  that  one  voice  of  melody,  and  sang. 

The  heart  is  wiser  than  the  intellect, 

And  works  with  swifter  hands  and  surer  feet 


00  KATH1UNA. 

Toward  wise  conclusions.     So,  without  resort 
To  reason,  in  rny  heart  I  knew  that  she 
Who  sang  had  suffered — knew  that  she  had  grieved, 
Had  hungered,  straggled,  kissed  the  cheek  of  death, 
And  ranged  the  scale  of  passions  till  her  soul 
Was  deep,  and  wide,  and  soft  with  sympathy  ;— 
Nay,  more  than  this  :  that  she  had  found  at  last 
Peace  like  a  river,  on  whose  waveless  tide 
She  floated  while  she  sang.     This  was  the  key 
That  loosed  my  prisoned  voice,  and  filled  my  eyes 
With  tender  tears,  and  touched  to  life  again 
My  better  nature. 


When  the  choral  closed, 
And  the  last  chord  in  silence  lapsed  away, 
I  raised  my  eyes,  and,  nodding  to  the  beck 
Of  the  old,  slippered  sexton,  I  went  in, — 
Not  (shall  it  be  confessed  ?)  to  find  the  God 
At  whose  plain  altar  bowed  the  rural  throng ; 
'  But,  through  a  voice,  to  follow  to  its  source 
The  influence  that  moved  me. 


KATHR1NA.  67 

I  was  .late  ; 

And  many  eyes  looked  up  as  I  advanced 
Through,  the  broad  aisle,  and  took  a  seat  that  turned 
My  face  to  ah1  the  faces  in  the  house. 
I  scanned  the  simpering  girls  within  the  choir, 
But  found  not  what  I  sought ;  and  then  my  eyes 
With  rambling  inquisition  swept  the  pews, 
Pausing  at  every  maiden  face  in  vain. 
One  head,  that  crowned  a  tah1  and  slender  form, 
Was  bowed  with  reverent  grace  upon  the  rail 
Before  her  ;  and,  although  I  caught  no  glimpse 
'Of  her  sweet  face,  I  knew  such  face  was  there, 
And  there  the  voice. 

It  was  Communion  Day. 
The  simple  table  underneath  the  desk 
Was  draped  with  linen,  on  whose  snow  was  spread 
The  feast  of  love — the  vases  filled  with  wine, 
The  separated  bread  and  circling  cups. 
The  venerable  pastor  had  come  down 
From  his  high  pulpit,  and  assumed  the  seat 
Of  presidence,  and,  with  benignant  eyes, 


08  KATIIR1NA. 

Sat  smiling  on  his  flock.     Tlie  deacons  all 

Hose  from  their  pews — four  old,   brown-handed 

men, 

With  frosty  hair — and  took  the  ancient  chairs 
That  flanked  the  table.     All  the  house  was  still. 
Save  here  and  there  the  rustle  of  a  silk 
Or  folding  of  a  fan  ;  and  over  ah1 
Brooded  the  dove  of  peace.     I  had  no  part 
In  the  fair  spectacle,  but  I  could  feel 
That  it  was  beautiful  and  sweet  as  heaven. 

"When  the  old  pastor  rose,  with  solemn  mien, 

I  looked  to  see  the  lady  lift  her  head  ; 

But  still  she  bowed  ;  and  then  I  heard  these  words: 

"  The  person  who  unites  with  us  to-day 

"  Will  take  her  place  before  me  in  the  aisle, 

"  To  give  her  answer  to  our  creed,  and  speak 

"  The  pledges  of  our  covenant." 

Then  first 

I  saw  her  face.     With  modest  grace  she  rose, 
Lifted  her  hat,  and  gave  it  to  the  hand 


KATHR1NA.  69 

Of  a  companion,  and  within  the  aisle 

Stood  out  alone.     My  heart  beat  thick  and  fast 

With  vision  of  her  perfect  loveliness, 

And  apprehension  of  the  heroism 

That  shone  within  her  eyes,  and  made  her  act 

A  Christ-like  sacrifice. 

O  !  eyes  of  blue  I 
O  !  lily  throat  and  cheeks  of  faintest  rose  ! 

0  !  brow  serene,  enthroned  in  holy  thought ! 

-O  !  soft,  brown  sweeps  of  hair  !  O  !  shapely  grace 
Of  maidenhood,  enrobed  in  virgin  white  ! 
Why,  in  your  rapt  unconsciousness  of  me 
And  all  around  you — in  the  presence-hall 
Of  God  and  angels — at  the  marriage-feast 
Of  Jesus  and  his  chosen — did  my  eyes 
Profane  the  hour  with  other  feast  than  yours  ? 

1  heard  the  "  You  Believe  "  of  the  old  creed 
Of  Puritan  New  England  ;  and  I  heard 
The  old  "You  Promise  "  of  its  covenant. 
Her  bow  of  reverent  assent  to  all 


70  KATHR1NA. 

The  knotty  dogmas,  and  her  silent  pledge 
Of  faithfulness  and  fellowship,  I  saw. 
These  formularies  were  the  frame  of  oak — 
Gnarled,  strongly  carved,  and  swart  with  age  and 

use — 

"Which  held  the  lovely  picture  of  my  saint, 
And  showed  her  saintliness  and  beauty  well. 

At  close  of  the  recital  and  response, 

The  pastor  raised  the  plain,  baptismal  bowl, 

And  she,  the  maiden  devotee,  advanced 

And  knelt  before  him.     Lifting  then  her  eyes 

To  him  and  heaven,  with  look  of  earnest  faith 

And  perfect  consecration,  she  received 

Upon  her  brow  the  water  from  his  hand. 

The  trickling  chrism  shone  on  her  cheeks  like  tears, 

The  while  he  joined  her  lovely  name  with  God's  : 

"  KATHKINA,  I  BAPTIZE  THEE  IN  THE  NAME 

"  OF  FATHER,  SON,  AND  HOLY  GHOST,  AMEN  !" 

Still  kneeling  like  a  saint  before  a  shrine, 


STILL  KNEELING  LIKE  A  SAINT. 


KATHR1NA.  71 

She  closed  her  eyes.    Then  lifting  up  toward  heaven 
His  hands,  the  pastor  prayed, — prayed  that  her  soul 
Might  be  forever  kept  from  stain  and  sin  ; 
That  Christ  might  live  in  her,  and  through  her  life 
Shine  into  other  souls  ;  might  give  her  strength 
To  master  all  temptation,  and  to  keep 
The  vows  that  day  assumed  ;  might  comfort  her 
In  eveiy  sorrow,  and,  in  death's  dread  hour, 
Bear  her  in  hopeful  triumph  to  the  rest 
Prepared  for  those  who  love  him. 

All  this  scene 

T  saw  through  blinding  tears.     The  poetry 
That  like  a  soft  aureola  embraced 
Within  its  cope  those  two  contrasted  forms  ; 
The  eager  observation  and  the  hush 
That  reigned  through  all  the  house  ;  the  breathless 

spell 

Of  sweet  solemnity  and  tender  awe 
Which  held  all  hearts,  when  she,  The  Beautiful, 
Received  the  sign  of  niaiiiage  to  The  Good, 
O'erwhehned  me.  and  I  wept.     Shall  I  confess 


72  KATHR1NA. 

That  in  the  struggle  to  repress  my  tears 
And  hold  my  swelling  heart,  I  grudged  her  gift, 
And  felt  that,  by  the  measure  she  had  risen, 
She  had  put  space  between  herself  and  me, 
And  quenched  my  hope  ? 

She  stood  while  courtesy 
Of  formal  Christian  welcome  was  bestowed  ; 
Then  straightway  sought  her  seat,  as  though  no  eyes 
But  those  of  One  unseen  observed  her  steps. 
I  saw  her  taste  the  sacramental  bread, 
And  touch  the  silver  chalice  to  her  lips  ; 
And  Avhile  she  thought  of  Him,  the  Spotless  One 
Whose  flesh  and  blood  were  symbolled  to  her  heart, 
And  worshiped  in  her  thought,  I  ate  and  drank 
Her  virgin  beauty — with  what  guilty  sense 
Of  profanation  ! 

Last,  the  closing  hymn 
Gave  me  her  voice  again  ;  and  this  I  drank  ; 
Nay,  this  invaded  and  pervaded  me. 
tts  subtile  search  found  out  the  sleeping  chords 


KATEE1NA..  73 

Of  sympathy  ;  and  on  the  bridge  of  sound 
It  built  between  our  souls,  I  crossed,  and  saw 
Into  the  depths  of  purity  and  love — • 
The  full,  pathetic  power  of  womanhood — 
From  which  the  structure  sprang.     Just  once 
I  caught  her  eyes.     She  blushed  with  consciousness 
Of  my  strong  gaze  ;  but  paused  not  in  her  hymn 
Till  she  had  given  to  every  word  the  wings 
That  bore  it,  like  a  singing  bird,  toward  heaven. 

The  benediction  fell ;  and  then  the  throng 

Passed  slowly  out.     I  was  the  last  to  go. 

I  saw  a  man  whom  I  had  known,  and  shrank 

Both  from  his  greetings  and  his  questionings. 

One  thing  I  learned  :  that  she  who  thus  had  joined 

This  cluster  of  disciples  was  not  born 

And  reared  among  their  number  :  that  was  plain. 

I  saw  it  in  her  bearing  and  her  dress  ; 

In  that  unconsciousness  of  self  that  comes 

Of  gentle  breeding,  and  society 

Of  gentle  men  and  women  ;  in  the  ease  * 

With  which  she  bore  the  awkward  deference 


74  KATHB1NA. 

Of  those  who  spoke  with  her  adown  the  aisle  ; 
In  distant  and  admiring  gaze  of  men, 
And  the  cold  scrutiny  of  village  girls 
Who  passed  for  belles. 

I  stood  upon  the  steps — 
The  last  who  left  the  door — and  there  I  found 
The  lady  and  her  friend.     The  elder  turned, 
And  with  a  cordial  greeting  took  my  hand, 
And  rallied  me  on  my  forgetf ulness. 
Her  eyes,  her  smile,  her  manner  and  her  voice 
Touched  the  quick  springs  of  memory,  and  I  spoke 
Her  name. 

She  was  my  mother's  early  friend, 
Whose  face  I  had  not  seen  in  all  the  years 
That  had  flown  over  us,  since,  from  her  door, 
I  chased  her  lanib  to  where  I  foiind — myself. 
She  spoke  with  tender  words  and  swimming  eyes 
Of  her  I  mourned,  and  questioned  me  like  one 
Who  felt  a  mother's  anxious  interest 
In  all  my  cares  and  plans.     Why  did  I  not 


KATHR1NA.  75 

In  all  my  inauuderings  and  wanderings 

Remember  I  had  friends,  and  visit  them — 

Not  missing  her  ?     Her  niece  was  with  her  now  ; 

Would  live  with  her,  perhaps — ("  a  lovely  girl  !"- 

In  whisper  ;)  and  they  both  would  so  much  like 

To  see  me  at  their  house  !  (whisper  again  : 

"  Poor  child  !  I  fear  it  is  but  dull  for  her, 

Here  in  the  country. ")  Then  with  sudden  thought— 

"Kathrina !'' 

With  a  blushing  smile  she  turned, 
(She  had  heard  every  word,)  and  then  her  aunt— 
Her  voluble,  dear  aunt — presented  me 
As  an  old  friend — the  son  of  an  old  friend — 
Whose  eyes  had  promised  he  would  visit  them. 
Although,  in  her  monopoly  of  speech, 
She  had  quite  shut  him  from  the  chance  to  say 
So  much  as  that. 

I  caught  the  period 

Quick  as  it  dropped,  and  spoke  the  happiness 
I  had  in  meeting  them,  and  gave  the  pledge — 


m  KATHH1AA. 

No  costly  tiling  to  give — to  end  my  "walks 
On  pleasant  nightfalls  at  the  little  house 
Under  the  mountain. 

I  had  spoken  more, 

But  then  the  carnage,  with  its  single  horse, 
For  which  they  waited,  rattled  to  the  steps, 
And  we  descended.     To  their  lofty  seats 
I  helped  the  pair,  and  in  my  own  I  held 
For  one  sweet  moment,  hand  of  all  the  hands 
In  the  wide  world  I  longed  to  clasp  the  most. 
A  plain    ''Good    Evening    Sir,"   was  all  I  won 
From  its  possessor  ;  but  her  lively  aunt 
With  playful  menace  shook  her  fan  at  me, 
And  said  :  "Remember,  Paul !"  and  rode  away. 

"  A  worldly  woman,  Sir  !"  growled  a  grum  throat. 
I  turned  and  saw  the  sexton.  Query :  "  Which  ?" 
"I  mean  the  aunt."  .  .  .  "And  what  about 

the  niece  ?" 

"  Too  fine  for  common  people  !"  (with  a  shrug.) 
"  I  think  she  is,"  I  said,  with  quiet  voice, 


KATIIR1NA.  77 

And  turned  my  feet  toward  home. 

A  pious  girl  ! 

And  what  could  I  be  to  a  pious  girl  ? 
What  could  she  be  to  me  ?    Weak  questions,  these, 
And  vain,  perhaps  ;  but  such  as  young  men  ask 
On  slighter  spur  than  mine. 

She  had  bestowed 

Her  love,  her  life,  her  goodly  self  on  Heaven, 
"And  had  been  nobly  earnest  in  her  gift. 
Before  all  lovers  she  had  chosen  Christ ; 
Before  all  idols,  God  ;  before  all  wish 
And  will  of  loving  man,  her  heart  and  hand 
Were  pledged  to  duty.     Could  she  be  a  wife  ? 
Could  she  be  mine,  with  such  unstinted  wealth 
Of  love,  and  love's  devotion,  as  I  craved  ? 
Would  she  not  leave  me  for  a  Sunday  School 
Before  the  first  moon's  wane  ?    Would  she  not  seek 
The  cant  and  snuffle  of  conventicles 
"At  early  candle-light,"  and  sing  her  hymns 
To  driveling  boors,  and  cheat  me  of  her  songs  ? 


78  KATHR1NA. 

Would  site  exhaust  herself  in  "  doing  good  " 
After  the  modern  styles — in.  patching  quilts, 
And  knitting  socks,  and  bearing  feeble  tracts 
To  dirty  little  children — not  to  speak 
Of  larger  work  for  missionary  folk  ? 
Woiild  there  not  come  a  time  (O  !  fateful  time  !) 
When  Dorcas  and  her  host  would  fill  my  house, 
•  And  I  by  courtesy  be  held  at  home 
To  entertain  their  twaddle,  and  to  smile, 
While  in  God's  name  and  lovely  Charity's 
They  would  consume  my  substance  ?    Would  she 

not 

Become  the  stern  and  stately  president 
Of  some  society,  or  figure  in  the  list 
Of  slim  directresses  in  spectacles  ? 

\ 

So  much  for  questions  :  then  reflections  came. 
These  pious  women  make  more  careful  wives 
Than  giddy  ones.     They  do  not  run  away, 
Though,    doubtless,    husbands   live   whose   hearts 

would  heal, 
Broken  by  such  a  blow  !     The  time  they  give 


KATHR1NA.  79 

To  worship  and  to  pious  offices 
Defrauds  tlie  mirror  mainly  ;  and  the  gold 
That  goes  for  charity  goes  not  for  gems. 

Besides,  these  pious  and  believing  wives  • 

Make  gentle  mothers,  who,  with  self-control 

And  patient  firmness,  train  their  children  well — 

A  fact  to  be  remembered.     But,  alas  ! 

They  train  their  husbands,  too,  and  undertake 

A  mission  to1  their  souls,  so  gently  pushed, 

So  tenderly,  they  may  not  take  offence, 

Or  punish  with  rebuff ;  and  yet,  dear  hearts  ! 

With  such  persistence,  that  they  reach  the  raw 

Before  they  know  it  ;  so  it  conies  to  tears 

At  last,  with  comfort  in  an  upper  room. 

But  then — a  seal  is  sacred  to  them,  and  a  purse 

Or  pockot-book,  though  in  a  dressing-room 

"With  shutters  and  a  key  ! 

Thus  wrapped  in  thought 
And  selfish  calculation  of  the  claims 
Of  one  my  peer,  or  my  superior, 


80  KATRRLNA. 

In  every  personal  and  moral  grace, 

• 
I  walked  along,  till,  on  my  consciousness, 

Flashed  the  absurdity  of  my  conceits 

And  my  assumptions,  and  I  laughed  outright — 

Laughed  at  myself,  so  loudly  and  so  long 

That  I  was  startled.     Not  for  many  months 

Had  sound  of  mirth  escaped  me  ;  and  my  voice 

Hang  strangely  in  my  ears,  as  if  the  lips 

Of  one  long  dead  had  spoken. 


I  received 

The  token  of  returning  healthfulness 
With  warm  self-gratulation.     I  had  touched 
The  magic  hand  that  held  new  life  for  me  ; 
The  cloud  was  lifted,  and  the  burden  gone. 
The  leaf  within  my  book  of  fate,  that  gloomed 
With  awful  records,  washed  and  blotched  by  tears- 
Blown  by  a  woman's  breath  from  finger-tips 
That  knew  not  what  they  did — was  folded  back  ; 
And  all  the  next  white  page  held  but  one  word— 
One  word  of  gold  and  flame — its  title-crown, 


EATHR1NA.  81 


That  wrought  a  rosy  nimbus  for  itself  ; 
And  that  one  word  was  LOVE. 


The  laggard  days 

My  pride  or  my  pi'opriety  imposed 
Upon  desire,  before  my  eyes  coiild  see 
The  object  of  my  new-born  passion,  passed  * 
And  in  the  low  hours  of  an  afternoon, 
Bright  with  the  largess  of  a  kingly  shower 
Whose  chariot-wheels  still  thundered  in  the  East, 
,  Leaving  the  West  aflame,  I  sought  the  meads, 
And  once  again,  thrilled  by  fore-tasted  joy, 
Walked  toward  the  mountain. 


While  I  walked,  the  rain 
Fell  like  a  veil  of  gauze  between  my  eyes 
And  the  blue  wall ;  and  from  the  precious  spot 
That  held  the  object  of  my  thought,  there  sprang 
An  iridal  effulgence,  faint  at  first, 
But  brightening  fast,  and  leaping  to  an  arch 
That  spanned  the  heavens-  -a  miracle  of  light  1 


82  KATHR1NA. 

"  There's  treasure  where  the  rainbow  rests,"  I  said. 
Would  it  evade  me,  as,  for  years  untold, 
It  had  evaded  every  childish  dupe 
Whose  feet  had  chased  the  bright,  elusive  cheat  ? 
Would  it  evade  me  ?    Question  that  arose, 
And  loomed  with  darker  front  and  huger  form 
Thau  the  dark  mountain,  and  more  darkly  loomed 
And  higher  rose  as  the  long  path  grew  short ! 
Would  it  evade  me  ?    Like  a  passing  smile 
The  rainbow  faded  from  the  mountain's  face  ; 
And  Hope's  resplendent  iris,  which  illumed 

My  question  grew  phantasmal,  and  at  length 
i 

Evanished,  leaving  but  a  doubtful  blur. 

Would  it  evade  me  ?    Gods  !  what  wealth  or  waste 

Of  precious  life  awaited  the  reply  ! 

Was  it  a  coward's  shudder  that  o'erswept 

My  frame  at  thought  of  possible  repulse 

And  possible  relapse  ? 

"  Oh  !  there  he  comes  !" 
I  heard  the  mistress  of  the  cottage  say 
Behind  a  honeysuckle.     Did  I  smile  ? 


KATHR1NA.  83 

It  was  because  the  fancy  crossed  me  then 
That  the  announcement  was  like  one  which  rings 
Over  the  polar  seas,  when,  from  his  perch, 
The  lookout  bruits  a  long-expected  whale  ! 
Then  sweeping  the  piazza  from  the  spot 
Where  with  her  niece  she  sat,  she  hailed  me  with : 
"So  yotTSfe  apme  at  last  !    How  very  sad 
These  men  have  so  much  business  !     Tell  me  how 
You  got  away  ;  how  soon  you  must  return  ; 
Who  suffers  by  your  absence  ;  what  the  news, 
And  whether  you  are  well  ?" 

Brisk  medicine 

These  words  to  me,  arid  timely  given.     They  broke 
The  spell  of  fear,  and  banished  my  restraint. 
She  took  my  arm,  and  led  me  to  her  niece, 
Who  greeted  me  as  if  some  special  grace 
Of  courtesy  were  due,  to  make  amends 
For  the  familiar  badinage  her  aunt 
Had  poured  xipon  me. 

They  had  come  without — 
One  with  her  work,  the  other  with  her  booV — 


84  KATHE1NA. 

To  taste  the  freshness  of  the  evening  air, 
Washed  of  the  hot  day's  dust  by  rain  ;  to  hear 
The  robin's  hymn  of  joy  ;  and  watch  the  clouds 
That  canopied  with  gold  the  sinking  sun. 
The  maiden  in  a  pale  blue  muslin  robe — 
Dyed  with  forget-me-nots,  I  fancied  then, 
And  sweet  Avith  life  in  every  fold,  I  knew — 
A  blush-rose  at  her  throat,  and  in  her  hair 
A  sprig  of  green  and  white,  was  lovelier 
Than  sky  or  landscape  ;  and  her  low  words  fell 
More  musically  than  the  robin's  hymn. 
So,  with  my  back  to  other  scene  and  sound, 
1  faced  the  faces,  took  the  proffered  chair, 
And  looked  and  listened. 

"Tell  us  of  yourself," 

Spoke  the  blunt  aunt,  with  license  of  her  years. 
"  What  are  you  doing  now  ?" 

"Nothing,"  I  said. 
"  And  were  you  not  the  boy  who  was  to  grow 


KATHR1XA.  85 

Into  a  great,  good  man,  and  write  fine  books, 
And  have  no  end  of  fame  ?" 

The  question  cut 

peeper  than  she  intended.     The  hot  blush 
4.nd  stammering  answer  told  her  of  the  hurt, 
And  tenderly  she  tried  to  heal  the  wound  : 
"  I  know  that  you  have  suffered ;  but  your  hours 
Must  not  be  told  by  tears.     The  life  that  goes 
In  unavailing  SOITOAV  goes  to  waste." 

"  True,"  I  replied,  "but  work  may  not  be  done 
Without  a  motive.     Never  worthy  man 
Worked  worthily  who  was  not  moved  by  love. 
When  she  I  loved,  and  she  who  loved  me  died, 
My  motive  died  ;  and  it  can  never  rise 
Till  trump  of  love  shall  call  it  from  the  dust 
To  resurrection." 

I  spoke  earnestly, 

Without  a  thought  that  other  ears  than  hers 
Were  listening  to  my  words  ;  but  when  I  looked, 


80  KATH1UNA. 

I  saw  the  maiden's  eyes  were  dim  with  tears. 
I  knew  her  own  experience  was  touched, 
And  that  her  heart  made  answer  to  my  own 
In  perfect  sympathy. 

To  change  the  drift, 

I  took  her  book,  and  read  the  title-page  : 
"  So  you  like  poetry,"  I  said. 

"So  well  my  aunt 
Finds  fault  with  me." 

"You  write,  perhaps  ?" 

"Not  I." 

"  A  happy  woman  !"  I  exclaimed  ;  "  in  truth, 
The  first  I  ever  found  affecting  art 
Who  shunned  expression  by  it.     If  a  girl 
Like  painting,  she  must  paint ;  if  poetry, 
She  must  wiite  verses.     Can  you  tell  me  why 
(Tor  sex  marks  no  distinction  in  this  thing,) 


KATUE1NA.  87 

Men  with  a  taste  for  art  in  finest  forms 
Cherish  the  fancy  that  they  may  become, 
Or  are,  Art's  masters  ?     You  shall  see  a  man 
Who  never  drew  a  line  or  struck  an  arc 
Direct  an  architect,  and  spoil  his  work, 
Because,  forsooth  !  he  likes  a  tasteful  house  ! 
He  likes  a  muffin,  but  he  does  not  go 
Into  his  kitchen  to  instruct  his  cook, — 
Nay,  that  were  insult.     He  admires  fine  clothes. 
But  trusts  his  tailor.     Only  in  those  arts 
.Which  issue  from  creative  potencies 
"Does  his  conceit  engage  him.     He  could  learn 
The  baker's  trade,  and  learn  to  cut  a  coat, 
But  never  learn  to  do  that  one  great  deed 
Which  he  essays,1' 

"  'Tis  not  a  strange  mistake 

These  people  make  " — she  answered,  thoughtfully. 
"  Art  gives  them  pleasure  ;  and  they  honor  those 
Whose  heads  and  hands  produce  it.     If  they  see 
The  length  and  breadth  and  beauty  of  a  thought 
Embodied  by  another, — if  they  hold 


88  KATHE1NA. 

The  taste,  the  culture,  the  capacity, 
To  measure  values  in  the  things  of  art, 
Why  cannot  they  create  ?    Why  cannot  they 
Win  to  themselves  the  honor  they  bestow 
On  those  who  feed  them  ?    Is  it  veiy  strange 
That  those  who  know  how  sweet  the  gratitude 
Which  the  true  artist  stirs,  should  burn  to  taste 
That  gratitude  themselves  ?" 

"Not  strange,  perhaps," 
I  said,  "and  yet  it  is  a  sad  mistake  ; 
For  countless  noble  lives  have  gone  to  waste 
In  work  which  it  inspired." 

Here  spoke  the  aunt  : 
' '  You  are  a  precious  pair  ;  and  if  you  know 
What  you  are  talking  of,  you  know  a  deal 
More  than  your  elders.     By  your  royal  leave, 
I  will  retire  ;  for  I  can  lay  the  cloth 
Tor  kings  and  queens,  though  I  may  fail  to  know 
Their  lore  and  language.     You  can  eat,  I  think  ; 
And  hear  a  tea-bell,  though  you  hear  not  me." 


KATHE1NA.  8! 

Thus  speaking  in  her  crisp,  good-natured  way, 
The  kdy  left  us. 

When  she  passed  the  door. 
And  laughter  at  her  jest  had  had  its  way, 
I  said  :  "It  takes  all  sorts  to  make  a  world," 

"How  many,  think  you  ?     Only  one,  two,  three," 
The  maiden  said.     ' '  Here  we  have  all  the  world 
In  this  one  cottage — artist,  teacher,  taught, 
lu — not  to  mar  the  order  of  the  scale 
For  courtesy — yourself,  myself,  my  aunt. 
You  are  an  artist,  so  my  aunt  reports  ; 
But,  as  an  artist,  you  are  naught  to  her. 
And  now,  to  broach  a  petted  theory, 
Let  me  presume  too  boldly,  while  I  say 
She  cannot  understand  you,  though  I  can  ; 
You  cannot  measure  her,  though  she  is  wise. 
You  have  not  much  for  her,  and  that  you  have 
Yoti  cannot  teach  her ;  but  I.  knowing  her, 
Can  pick  from  your  creations  crumbs  of  thought 
She  will  find  manna.     In  the  hands  of  Christ 
The  fire  loaves  gT3W,  the  fishes  multiplied  ; 


90  KATHEINA. 

And  He  to  his  disciples  gave  tlie  feast — 
They  to  the  multitude.     Artists  are  few, 
Teachers  are  thoiisands,  and  the  world  is  large. 
Artists  are  nearest  God.     Into  their  souls 
He  breathes  his  life,  and  from  their  hands  it  cornea 
In  fair,  articulate  forms  to  bless  the  world ; 
And  yet,  these  forms  may  never  bless  Lhe  world 
Except  its  teachers  take  them  in  their  hands, 
And  give  each  man  his  portion." 

As  she  spoke 

In  earnest  eloquence,  I  could  have  knelt, 
And    worshiped    her.      Her    delicate    cheek    was 

flushed, 

Her  eyes  were  filled  with  light,  and  her  closed  book 
Was  pressed  against  her  heart,  whose   throbbing 

tide 

Thridded  her  temples.     I  was  half  amused, 
Half  rapt  in  admiration  ;  and  she  saw 
That  in  my  eyes  at  which  she  blushed  and  paused 
'  "Tour  pardon,  Sir,"  she  said.     " It  ill  becomes 
A  teacher  to  instruct  an  artist." 


KATHR1NA.  91 

"Nay, 

It  does  become  you  wondrously,"  I  said, 
With  light  but  earnest  words.     "  Fray  you  go  on ; 
And  pardon  all  that  my  unconscious  eyes 
Have  done  to  stop  you. " 

"I  have  little  more 

That  I  woitld  care  to  say  :  you  have  my  thought," 
She  answered ;  "yet  there's  very  much  to  say, 
And  you  should  say  it." 

"Not  I,  lady,  no  : 
A  poet  is  not  practical  like  you, 
Nor  sensible  like  you.     You  caii  teach  him 
As  well  as  tamer  folk.     In  truth,  I  think 
He  needs  instruction  quite  as  much  as  they 
For  whom  he  writes." 

"That's  possible,"  she  said, 
With  an  arch  smile. 

"Will  you  explain  yourself  '?" 


92  KATHR1NA. 

"  "Well — if  you  wish  it — yes  :"  she  made  reply. 
"And  first,  my  auditor  must  know  that  I 
Believe  in  inspiration,  though  he  knows 
So  much  as  that  already,  from  my  words, — 
Believe  that  God  inspires  the  poet's  soul, — 
That  He  gives  eyes  to  see,  and  ears  to  hear 
What  in  his  realm  holds  finest  ministry 
For  highest  aptitudes  and  needs  of  men, 
And  skill  to  mould  it  into  forms  of  art 
Which  shall  present  it  to  the  world  he  serves. 
Sometimes  the  poet  writes  with  fire  ;  with  blood 
Sometimes  ;  sometimes  with  blackest  ink  : 
It  matters  not.     God  finds  his  mighty  way 
Into  his  verse.     The  dimmest  window-panes 
Let  in  the  morning  light,  and  in  that  light 
Our  faces  shine  with  kindled  sense  of  God 
And  his  unwearied  goodness  ;  but  the  glass 
Gets  little  good  of  it ;  nay,  it  retains 
Its  chill  and  grime  beyond  the  power  of  light 
To  warm  or  whiten.     E'en  the  prophet's  ass 
Had  better  eyes  than  he  who  strode  his  back, 
And,  though  the  prophet  bore  the  word  of  God, 


KATHR1NA.  93 

Did  finer  reverence.     The  Psalmist's  soul, 

Was  not  a  fitting  place  for  psalms  like  his 

To  dwell  in  over-long,  while  waiting  words, 

If  I  read  lightly.     As  for  the  old  seers, 

Whose  eyes  God  touched  with  vision  of  the  life 

Of  the  unfolding  ages,  I  must  doubt 

WTiether  they  comprehended  what  they  saw, 

Or  knew  what  they  recorded.     It  remains 

For  the  world's  teachers  to  expound  their  words  ; 

To  probe  their  mysteries  ;  and  relegate 

The  truth  they  hold  in  blind  significance 

Into  the  fair  domains  of  history 

And  human  knowledge.     Am  I  understood  ?" 

"You  are,"  I  answered  ;  "  and  I  cannot  say 
You  flatter  me.     God  takes  within  his  hand 
A  thing  of  his  contrivance  which  we  call 
A  poet  ;  then  He  puts  it  to  his  lips, 
And  speaks  his  word,  and  puts  it  down  again — 
The  instrument  not  better  and  not  worse 
For  being  handled  ; — not  improved  a  whit 
In  quality,  by  quality  of  that 


94  KATIIR1NA. 

"Which  it  conveys.     Do  I  report  aright  ? 
Or  do  you  prompt  me  ?" 

"You  are  very  apt," 
She  sairl,  '•'  at  learning,  but  a  little  bald 
In  statement.     Nathless,  be  it  as  you  say  ; 
And  we  shall  see  how  it  is  possible 
That  poets  need  instruction  quite  as  mucb 
As  those  for  whom   they  write.     "What  sad,  bad 

men 

The  brightest  geniuses  have  been  !    How  weak. 
How  mean  hi  character  !  how  foul  in  life  ! 
How  feebly  have  the  best  of  them  retained 
The  wealth  of  good  and  beauty  which  has  flowed 
In  crystal  streams  from  God,  the  fountain-head, 
Through  them  to  fertilize  the  world  !    Nay,  worse: 
How  many  of  them  have  infused  the  tide 
With  tincture  of  their  own  impurity, 
To  poison  sweetest,  unsuspecting  lips, 
And  breed  diseases  in  the  finest  blood  ! 
And  poets  not  alone,  and  not  the  worst ; 
But  painters,  sculptors — those  whose  kingly  power 


KATHE1NA.  95 

And  aptitude  for  utterance  divine 

Have  made  them  artists  : — how  have  these  con 
temned 

In  countless  instances  the  God  of  Heaven 

Who  filled  them  with  his  fire  !  Think  you  that 
these 

Could  compass  their  achievements  of  themselves  ? 

Can  streams  surpass  their  fountains  ?" 

"Nay,"  I  said, 

In  quick  response.     ' '  Your  argument  is  good. ; 
But  is  the  artist  nothing  ?    Is  he  naught 
But  an  apt  tool — a  mouth-piece  for  a  voice  ? 
You  make  him  but  the  spigot  of  a  cask 
Round  which  you,  teachers,  wait  with  silver  cups 
To  bear  away  the  wine  that  leaves  it  diy. 
You  magnify  your  office." 

"We  do  all 

Wait  upon  God  for  eveiy  grace  and  good," 
She  then  rejoined.     "  You  take  it  at  first  hands, 
And  we  from  yours  :  the  multitude  from  ours. 


OG  KATIIUINA. 

It  may  leach  through  our  souls,  if  our  poor  wills 
Retain  it  not,  and  drench  the  fragrant  sand. 
And  if  I  magnify  my  office — well ! 
Tis  a  great  office.     "What  would  come  of  all 
The  music  of  the  masters,  did  not  we 
Wait  at  their  doors,  to  publish  to  the  world 
What  God  has  told  them  ?     They  would  be  as 

mute 

As  the  dumb  Sphinx.     They  write  a  symphony, 
An  opera,  an  oratorio, 
In  language  that  the  teacher  understands, 
And  straight  the  whole  world  echoes  to  its  strains. 
It  shrills  and  thunders  through  cathedral  glooms 
From  goldon  organ-tubes  and  voiceful  choirs  ; 
The  halls  of  art  of  both  the  hemispheres 
Resound  Avith  its  diviiiest  melodies  ; 
The  street  stirs  with  the  impulse,  and  we  hear 
The  blare  of  martial  trumpets,  and  the  tramp 
Of  bannered  armies  swaying  to  its  rhythm  ; 
The  hurdy-gurdies  and  the  whistling  boys 
Adopt  the  lighter  strains  :  and  round  and  round 
A  million  souls  its  hovering  fancies  float, 


KATHR1NA.  9 

Like  butterflies  above  a  fair  parterre, 
Till,  settling  one  by  one,  they  sleep  at  last ; 
And  lo  !  two  petals  more  on  every  flower  ! 

And  tliis  not  all ;  for  though  the  master  die, 

« 

The  teacher  lives  forever.     On  and  on, 

Through  all  the  generations,  he  shah1  preach 

The  beautiful  evangel ; — on  and  on, 

Till  our  poor  race  has  passed  the  tortuous  years 

That  lie  prevening  the  millennium, 

And  slide  into  that  broad  and  open  sea, 

He  shall  sail,  singing  still  the  songs  he  learned 

In  the  world's  youth,  and  sing  them,  o'er  and  o'er 

To  lapping  waters,  till  the  thousand  leagues 

Are  overpast,  and  argosy  and  crew 

Ride  at  their  port." 

"  True  as  to  facts,"  I  said  ; 
"And  as  to  prophecies,  most  credible  ; 
But,  as  an  illustration,  false,  I  think. 
That  which  the  voice  and  instrument  may  do 
For  the  composer,  types  may  do  for  those 
Who  mint  their  thoughts  in  verse.     Music  is  writ 


98  KAT1IR1NA* 

In  language  that  the  people  do  not  read — 

Is  lame  in  that-  -and  needs  interpreters  ; 

While  poetry,  e'en  in  its  noblest  forms 

And  boldest  flights,  speaks  their  vernacular. 

Your  aunt  can  read  the  book  within  your  hand 

As  well  as  you,  if  she  desires,  yet  finds 

Your  score  all  Greek,  until  you  vocalize 

Its  wealth  of  hidden  meaning.     As  for  arts 

Which  meet  the  eye  in  picture  and  in  form, 

They  ask  no  mediator  but  the  light — 

No  grace  but  privilege  to  shine  with  naught 

Between  them  and  the  light.     They  are  themselves 

Expositors  of  that  which  they  expose, 

Or  they  are  nothing.     All  the  middle-men — 

The  fools  profound — who  take  it  on  their  tongues 

To  play  the  showmen,  strutting  up  and  down, 

And  mouthing  of  the  beauty  that  they  hide, 

Are  an  impertinence." 


' '  You  leave  no  room 
For  critics,"  she  suggested,  with  a  smile. 


KATIIR1NA.  99 

"  We  must  not  spoil  a  trade,  or  starve  the  wives 
And  innocent  babes  it  feeds." 

"  No  care  for  them  !" 

I  made  reply.     "  They  do  not  need  much  room — 
Men  of  their  build — and  what  they  need  they  take 
The  feeble  conies  burrow  in  the  rocks  ; 
But  the  trees  grow,  and  we  are  not  aware 
Of  space  encumbered  by  them." 

"Yet  the  fact 

Still  stands  untouched,"  she  added,  thoughtfully, 
"  That  greatest  artists  speak  to  fewest  souls, 
Or  speak  to  them  directly.     They  have  need 
Of  no  such  ministry  as  waits  the  beck 
Of  the  composer  ;  but  they  need  the  life, 
If  not  the  learning,  of  the  cultured  few 
Who  understand  them.     If  from  out  my  book 
I  gather  that  which  feeds  me,  and  inspires 
A  nobler,  sweeter  beauty  in  my  life, 
And  give  my  life  to  those  who  cannot  win 
From  the  dim  text  such  boon,  then  have  I  borne 


100  KATHRINA. 

A  blessing  from  tlie  book,  and  been  its  best 
Interpreter.     Tlie  bread  that  conies  from  heaven 
Needs  finest  breaking.     Some  there  doubtless  are- 
Some  ready  souls — that  take  the  morsel  pure 
Divided  to  their  need  ;  but  multitudes 
Must  have  it  in  admixtures,  menstruums, 
And  forms  that  human  hands  or  human  Life 
Have  moulded.     Though  the  multitudes  may  fiud 
Something  to  stir  and  lift  their  sluggish  souls 
In  sight  of  great  cathedrals,  or  in  view 
Of  noble  pictures,  yet  they  see  not  all, 
And  not  the  best.     That  -which  they  do  not  see 
Must  enter  higher  souls,  and  there,  by  art 
Or  life,  be  fashioned  to  their  want." 


"Your  thought 

Grows  subtle,"  I  responded,  "and  I  grant 
Its  force  and  beauty.     If  the  round  truth  lie 
Somewhere  between  us,  and  I  see  the  face 
It  turns  to  me  in  stronger  light  than  you 
Reveal  its  opposite,  why,  let  the  fault  be  mine  ; 


KATHR1NA.  101 

It  is  not  yours.     You  have  instructed  me, 
And  won  my  thanks." 

•'  Instructed  you  ?"  she  said, 
With  a  fine  blush  :  "you  mock,  you  humble  me. 
And  have  I  talked  so  much,  with  such  an  air, 
That,  either  earnestly  or  in  a  jest, 
You  can  say  this  to  me  ?" 

"  'Tis  not  a  sin, 

In  latitude  of  ours,"  I  made  reply, 
"To  talk  philosophy ;  'tis  only  rare 
For  beardless  lips  to  do  so.     I  have  caught 
From  yoiu-s  a  finer,  more  suggestive  scheme 
Than  all  the  wise  have  taught  me  by  their  books, 
Or  by  their  voices.     I  will  think  of  it." 

"  Now  may  you  be  forgiven  !"  the  aunt  exclaimed, 
Approaching  unobserved.     "There  never  lived 
A  quieter,  more  plainly  speaking  girl 
Than  my  Kathrina.     All  these  weeks  and  months, 
I  have  lieard  naught  from  her  but  common  sense  ; 


102  KATHE1NA. 

But  when  you  came,  why,  off  she  went ;   though 

where 

It's  more  than  I  know.     You,  sir,  have  the  blame  ; 
And  you  must  lift  your  spell,  and  give  her  back 
Just  as  you  found  her." 

"  She  has  practised  well 

Her  scheme  on  us.     She  breaks  to  you  the  bread 
That  meets  your  want ;   to  me,   that  meets  my 

own," 
I  said,  in  answering. 

""Well,"  spoke  the  aunt, 

"I  think  I'll  try  my  hand  at  breaking  bread  : 
So  follow  me. " 

We  followed  to  her  board, 
And  there,  in  converse  suited  to  the  hour 
And  presence  of  our  hostess,  proved  ourselves — 
Quite  to  that  lady's  liking — of  the  earth. 
We  ate  her  jumbles  for  her,  sipped  her  tea, 
And  revelled  in  the  spicy  sticculence 
Of  her  preserves. 


KATHR1NA.  103 

Wliile  still  I  sat  at  ease, 

The  maiden's  eye,  with  quick,  uneasy  glance, 
Sought  the  clock's  dial.     Then  she  turned  to  mo, 
And  said,  with  sweet,  respectful  courtesy  : 
' '  Pray  you  excuse  my  presence  for  an  hour. 
A  duty  calls  me  out ;  and  that  performed, 
I  will  return." 

I  saAV  she  marked  my  look 
Of  disappointment — that  it  staggered  her — 
The  while  with  words  of  stiffest  commonplace 
I  gave  assent.     But  she  was  on  her  feet ; 
And  soon  I  heard  her  light  step  on  the  stair, 
Seeking  her  chamber. 

"  Whither  will  she  go 

At  such  an  hour  as  this,  from  you  and  me  ?" 
I  coldly  questioned  of  the  keen-eyed  mint. 
"Yoii  men  are  very  curious,"  she  said. 
"  I  knew  you'd  ask  me.     Can't  a  lady  stir, 
But  you  must  call  her  to  account  ?    Who  knows 
She  may  not  have  some  rustic  lover  here 
With  whom  she  keeps  her  tryst  ?     'Tis  an  old  trick, 


104  KATHR1XA 

Not  wholly  out  of  fashion  in  these  parts. 
What  matters  it  ?    She  orders  her  own  ways, 
And  has  discretion." 

With  lugubrious  voice 
I  said  :  "  You  trifle,  madam,  with  my  wish. 
I  know  the  lady  has  no  lover  here, 
And  so  do  you." 

"  I  am  not  sure  of  that  !" 

My  hostess  made  response  ;  and  then  she  laughed 
A  rippling,  rollicking  roulade,  and  shook 
Her  finger  at  me,  till  my  temples  burned 
With  the  hot  shame  she  summoned. 

"There!"  I  said  ; 
"  You've  done  your  worst,  and  learned  so  much,  at 

least — 

That  I  admire  your  niece.     I  curious  ! 
Well,  you  are  curious  and  cunning  too. 
Now,  in  the  moment  of  your  victory, 
Be  generous  ;  and  tell  me  what  may  call 
The  lady  from  us." 


EATHR1NA.  105 

"It  is  Thursday  night," 
She  answered  soberly, — "the  weekly  hour 
At  which  our  quiet  neighborhood  convenes 
For  social  worship.     You  may  guess  the  rest 
Without  niy  telling  ;  but  you  cannot  know 
With  what  anticipated  joy  she  leaves 
Our  company,  or  with  what  shining  face 
She  will  return." 

At  that  I  heard  her  dress 
Sliding  the  flight,  and  rising,  made  my  way 
To  meet  her  at  its  foot.     A  happy  smile 
Illumed  her  features,  as  she  gave  her  hand 
With  thought  of  parting.     I  had  rallied  ah1 
My  self-control  and  gallantry  meanwhile, 
And  said:    "Not  here.     I'll  with  you,   by  your 

leave, 
So  far  as  you  may  walk." 

'    There  was  a  flush 

Of  gladness  hi  her  eyes,  and  in  her  thanks 
A  subtler  charm  than  gratitude. 


106  KATHRLNA. 

I  bade 

My  hostess  a  "  good-night,"  and  left  her  door, 
Declining  her  entreaty  to  return. 
We  walked  in  silence,  side  by  side,  a  space, 
And  then,  with  feigned  indifference,  I  spoke  : 
"Your  aunt  has  told  me  of  your  errand ;  else 
It  had  been  modest  in  me  to  withhold 
This  tendance  on  your  steps.     She  tells  me  you 
Are  quite  a  devotee.     Whom  do  you  meet, 
In  neighborhood  like  this,  to  give  a  zest 
To  hour  like  this  ?" 

"Brothers  and  sisters  all," 
She  said  in  low  reply  ;  "  and  as  for  zest, 
There's  never  lack  of  it  where  there  is  love. 
"When  families  convene,  they  have  no  need 
Of  more  than  love  to  give  them  festal  joy  ; 
Nor  do  they  with  discrimination  judge 
Between  the  high  and  humble.     These  are  one  ; 
Love  makes  them  one." 

"  And  you  are  one  with  these  '?" 


KATHE1NA.  107 

"  Though,  most  unworthy  of  such  fellowship, 
I  trust  that  I  am  one  with  these  ; — that  they 
Are. one  with  me,  and  reckon  me  among 
Their  number." 

"  Can  they  do  you  any  good  ?' 

"  They  can,"  she  said  ;  "  but  were  it  otherwise, 
I  can  serve  them  ;  and  so  should  seek  them  still. 
I  help  them  in  their  songs." 

"We  reached  too  soon 
The  open  doorway  of  the  humble  hut 
Which,  for  long  years,  had  held  the  village  school, 
Aud,  at  a  Little  distance,  paused.     The  room, 
Battered  and  black  by  wantonest  abuse 
Of  the  rude  youth,  was  lit  by  feeble  lamps, 
Brought  by  the  villagers  ;  and  scattered  round 
Upon  the  high, hacked  benches,  hardly  less 
Rude  and  rough-worn  than  they,  the  worshipers 
In  silence  sat.     It  was  no  place  for  words. 
I  took  the  lady's  hand,  and  said  "  good-night  1" 


108  KATHR1NA. 

In  whisper.     Then  she  turned,  aud  disappeared 
Within  the  sheltered  gloom  ;  but  I  could  see 
The  care-worn  cheeks  light  up  with  pleasant  fire 
As  she  passed  in  ;  and  e'en  the  fainting  lamps 
Flared  with  new  life,  the  while  they  caught  the 

breatn 

Of  her  sweet  robe.     Then  with  an  angry  heart 
I  turned  away,  and,  wrapped  in  selfish  thought, 
Took  up  the  walk  toward  home. 

This  homely  group 

Of  Yankee  lollards  she  preferred  to  me  ! 
These    poor,    pinched    boobies,    with    their    silly 

wives — 

All !  these  were  they  who  gave  her  overmuch 
In  the  bestowal  of  their  fellowship  ! 
These  crowned  her  with  a  peerless  privilege, 
Permitting  her  to  sit  with,  them  an  hour 
As  a  dear  sister  !    How  my  sore  self-love 
Burned  with  the  hot  affront ! 

With  lips  compressed, 


I  TOOK  THE  LADY'S  UAND  AND  SAID,  "  GOOD  NIGHT  ! 


K AT  ERIN  A.  109 

Or  blurting  forth  their  anger  and  disgust, 

I  strode  the  meadows,  stalked  the  silent  town, 

And  growled  and  groaned  in  sullen  helplessness 

About  the  streets,  until  the  midnight  bell 

Tolled  from  the  old  church  tower ; — in  helplessness, 

For  mattered  nothing  what  or  who  she  was, 

(I  had  not  dared  or  cared  to  question  that,) 

Or  how  offensive  in  her  piety 

And  her  devotion  to  the  tasteless  cult 

Of  the  weak  throng,  I  was  her  slave  ;  and  she — 

Her  own  and  God's.     The  miserable  strife 

Between  my  love  of  self  and  love  of  her 

I  knew  was  bootless  ;  and  the  trenchant  truth 

Gut  to  the  quick.     She  held  within  her  hand 

My  heart,  my  life,  my  doom,  yet  knew  it  not ; 

And  had  she  known,  her  soul  was  under  vows 

"Which  would  forever  make  subordinate 

Their  recognized  possession, 

But  the  morn 

Brought  with  it  better  mood  and  calmer  thoughts, 
I  had  the  grace  to  gauge  the  heartlessness 


110  EATHB1NA. 

Of  my  exactions,  and  the  power  to  crush 
The  tyrant  wish  to  tear  her  from  the  throne 
To  which  she  clung.     I  said  :  "So  she  love  me 
As  a  true  woman  loves,  and  give  herself — 
Her  sweet,  pure  self — to  me,  and  fill  my  home 
With  her  dear  presence,  loyal  still  to  me 
In  wifely  love  and  wifely  offices, 
Though  she  abide  in  Christian  loyalty 
By  Christian  vows,  she  shall  have  liberty, 
And  hold  it  as  her  right." 

She  was  my  peer  : 

No  weakling  girl,  who  would  surrender  will 
And  life  and  reason,  with  her  loving  heart, 
To  her  possessor  ;^-no  soft,  clinging  thing 
Who  would  find  breath  alone  within  the  anna 
Of  a  strong  master,  and  obediently 
Wait  on  his  whims  in  slavish  carefulness  ; — 
No  fawning,  cringing  spaniel,  to  attend 
His  royal  pleasure,  and  account  herself 
'  Rewarded  by  his  pats  and  pretty  words, 
But  a  round  woman,  who,  with  insight  keen, 


KATHR1NA.  Hi 

Had  wrought  a  scheme  of  life,  and  measured  well 
Her  womanhood  ;  had  spread  before  her  feet 
A.  fine  philosophy  to  guide  her  steps  ; 
Had  won  a  faith  to  which  her  life  was  brought 
In  strict  adjustment — brain  and  heart  meanwhile 
Working  in  conscious  harmony  and  rhythm 
With  the  great  scheme  of  God's  great  universe, 
On  toward  her  being's  end. 

I  could  but  know 
Her  motive  was  superior  to  mine. 
I  could  but  feel  that  in  her  loyalty 
To  God  and  duty,  she  condemned  my  life. 
JQito  her  woman's  heart,  thrown  open  wide 
In  holy  charity,  she  had  drawn  all 
Of  human  kind,  and  found  no  humblest  soul 
Too  humble  for  her  entertainment, — none 
So  weak  it  could  return  no  grateful  boon 
For  what  she  gave  ;  and  standing  modestly 
Within  her  scheme,  with  meekest  reverence 
She  bowed  to  those  above  her,  yet  with  strong 
And  hearty  confidence  assumed  a  place 


112  KATIIR1NA. 

In  service  of  the  world,  as  minister 
Ordained  of  Heaven  to  break  to  it  the  bread 
She  took  from  other  hands.     And  she  was  one, 
Who  could  see  all  there  was  of  good  in  me, — 
Could  measure  well  the  product  of  my  power, 
And  give  it  impulse  and  direction  ;  nay, 
Could  supplement  my  power  ;  and  help  my  heart 
Against  its  foes. 

• 
The  moment  that  I  thrust 

The  selfish  thirsting  for  monopoly 

Of  her  affections  from  my  godless  heart, 

She  entered  in,  and  reigned  a  goddess  there. 

If  she  had  fascinated  me  before, 

And  fired  my  heart  with  passion,  now  she  bent 

My  spirit  to  profound  respect.     I  bowed 

To  the  fail'  graces  of  her  character, 

Her  queenly  gifts,  and  the  beneficence 

Of  her  devoted  life,  with  humbled  heart 

And  self-depreciation.     All  of  God 

That  the  world  held  for  me,  I  found  in  her  , 

And  in  her,  all  the  God  I  sought.     She  was 


KATIIR1NA.  113 

My  saviour  from  myself  and  from  my  sins  ; 
For,  with  my  worship  of  the  excellence 
Which  she  embodied,  came  the  purity 
And  peace  to  which,  through  all  my  troubled  life, 
I  had  been  stranger.     Thoughts  and  feeling's  ail 
"Were  sublimated  by  the  subtle  flame 
Which  wrapped  and  warmed  me  ;  and  I  walked  as 

one 

Might  walk  on  air,  with  things  of  earth  beneath, 
Breathing  a  rare,  supernal  atmosphere 
Which  eveiy  sense  and  faculty  informed 
With  light  and  life  divine. 

What  need  to  tell 

Of  the  succeeding  summer  days,  and  all 
Their  deeds  and  incidents  ?     They  floated  by 
Like  silent  sails  upon  a  summer  sea, 
That,  sweeping  in  from  farthest  heaven  at  morn, 
Traverse  the  vision,  and  at  evening  slide 
Out  into  heaven  again,  their  pennant-flames 
The  rosy  dawns  and  day-falls.     O'er  and  o'er 
I  walked  the  path,  and  crossed  the  stream,  that  lay 


114  EATHR1NA. 

Between  me  and  the  idol  of  my  heart ; 
And  every  day,  in  every  circumstance, 
I  found  her  still  the  same,  yet  not  the  same  ; 
For,  every  day,  some  unsuspected  grace, 
Or  some  fresh  revelation  of  her  wealth 
Of  character  and  culture,  touched  my  heart 
To  new  surpsise,  and  overflowed  the  cup 
Whose  wine  was  life  to  me. 

Though  I  could  see 

That  I  was  not  unwelcome  ;  though  I  knew 
I  gave  a  zest  to  her  sequestered  life, 
I  had  built  up  so  high  my  only  hope 
On  her  affection — I  had  given  myself 
So  wholly  to  the  venture  for  her  hand, 
I  did  not  dare  to  speak  of  love,  or  ask 
The  question  which,  unasked,  held  hopefully 
My  destiny  ;  which  answered,  might  bring  doom 
Of  madness  or  of  death. 

Meanwhile,  I  learned 
The  lady's  history  from  other  lips 


KATHR1NA.  115 

Than  hers — her  aunt's.     Alas  !  the  old,  old  tale  ! 
She  had  been  bred  to  luxury  ;  and  all 
That  wealth  could  purchase  for  her,  or  the  friends 
Swarmed  by  its  golden  glamour  could  bestow, 
She  had  possessed.     But  he  who  won  the  wealth, 
Reaching  for  more,  slipped  from  his  height  and 

fell, 

Dragging  his  house  to  ruin.     Then  he  died — 
Died  in  disgrace  ;  and  all  his  thousand  friends 
Fell  off,  and  left  his  pampered  family, 
The  while  the  noisy  auctioneer  knocked  down 
1  His  house  and  household  gods,  and  set  adrift 
The  helpless  life  thus  cruelly  bereft. 
The  mother  lived  a  month  :  the  rest  went  forth, 
Not  knowing  whither  ;  but  they  found  among 
The  poor  a  shelter  for  their  poverty, — 
Kathrina  with  her  aunt.     Thus,  in  few  words, 
A  tragedy  of  heart-breaks  and  of  death, 

Such  as  the  world  abounds  with. 

f 

But  this  girl, 
With  her  quick  instincts  and  her  brave,  good  heart, 


116  KATHB1NA. 

Determined  she  would  live  a  wliile,  and  learn 
What  lesson   God   would    teach    her.     This    she 

sought, 
And,  seeking,  found,  or  thought  she  found.     How 

well 

She  learned  the  lesson — what  the  lesson  was — 
Her  life,  thus  far  revealed,  and  waiting  still 
My  feeble  record,  shall  disclose.     Enough, 
Just  now  and  here,  that  out  of  it  she  bore 
A  noble  womanhood,  accepting  all 
Her  great  misfortunes  as  the  discipline 
Of  a  paternal  hand,  in  love  prescribed 
To  lead  her  to  her  place,  and  whiten  her 
For  Christian  service. 

All  the  summer  fled  ; 

And  still  my  heart  delayed.     One  pleasant  eve, 
When  first  the  creaking  of  the  crickets  told 
Of  Autumn's  opening  door,  I  went  with  her 
To  ramble  in  the  fields.     We  touched  the  hem 
Of  the  dark  mountain's  rober  that  falls  in  folds 
Of  emerald  sward  around  his  feet,  and  there 


KATHB1NA.  117 

Upon  its  tufted  velvet  we  sat  clown. 
It  was  my  time  to  speak,  but  I  was  dumb  ; 
And  silence,  painful  and  portentous,  hung 
Upon  us  both.     At  length,  she  turned  and  said  : 
"  Some  days  have  passed  since  you  were  latest 

here. 
Have  you  been  ill  ?" 

"  No,  I  have  been  at  work," 
I  answered, — "  at  my  own  delightful  work  ; 
The  first  since  first  we  met.     The  record  lies 
Where  I  may  reach  it  at  a  word  from  yon. 
Command,  and  I  will  read  it." 

"I  command," 

She  said,  responding  with  a  laugh.     "Nay,  I 
Entreat.     I  used  your  word,  but  this  is  mine, 
And  has  a  better  sound  from  lips  of  mine. 
I  am  your  waiting  auditor." 

I  read  : 
"  "Was  it  the  tale  of  a  talking  bird  ? 


118  KATHR1NA. 

Was  it  a  dream  of  the  night  ? 
When  have  I  seen  it  ?    Where  have  I  heard 
Of  the  haps  of  a  dainty  craft,  that  stirred 

My  spirit  with  affright  ? 

"  The  shallop  stands  out  from  the  sheltered  bay 

With  a  burden  of  spirits  twain, — 
A  woman  who  lifts  her  sad  eyes  to  pray, 
A  tall  youth,  trolling  a  roundelay, 

And  before  them  night,  and  the  main  ! 

"  O  !  Star  of  The  Sea  !    They  will  come  to  harm  : 

Nor  master  nor  sailor  is  there  ! 
The  youth  clasps  the  mast  with  his  sinewy  arm, 
And  Itiugbs  !     Dees  he  hold  in  his  bosom  a  charm 

That  will  baffle  the  sprites  of  the  air  ? 

"  O  !  woe  to  the  delicate  ship  !    O  !  woe  ! 

For  the  sun  is  sunk,  and  behold  ! 
The  trooping  phantoms  that  come  and  go 
In  the  sky  above  and  the  waves  below  ! 

Ho  !     The  wind  blows  wild  and  cold. 


KATHR1NA.  11D 

"  The  woman  is  weeping  in  weak  despair  ; 

The  youth  still  clings  to  the  mast, 
With  cheeks  all  aflame,  and  with  eyes  that  stare 
At  the  phantoms  hovering  everywhere  ; 

And  the  storm-rack  rises  fast ! 

"  The  phantoms  close  on  the  flying  bark  ; 

They  flutter  about  her  peak  ; 
They  sweep  in  swarms  from  the  outer  dark ; 
But  the  youth  at  the  mast  stands  still  and  stark, 

While  they  flap  his  stinging  cheek. 

"They  shiver  the  bolts  that  the  lightning  flings; 

They  bellow  and  roar  and  hiss ; 
They  splash  the  deck  with  their  slimy  wings 
Monstrous,  horrible,  ghastly  things — 

That  climb  from  the  foul  abyss. 

' '  No  star  shines  out  at  the  woman's  prayer ; 

0 !  madly  distraught  is  she ! 
And  the  bark  drives  on  with  her  wild  despair, 


120  KATHR1NA. 

With  shrieking  fiends  in  the  crowded  air, 
And  fiends  on  the  swarming  sea. 

"  Then  out  of  the  water  before  their  sight 

A  shape  loomed  bare  and  black  ! 
So  black  that  the  darkness  bloomed  with  white  ; 
So  black  that  the  lightning  grew  strangely  bright ; 

And  it  lay  in  the  shallop's  track  ! 

"  O  !  fierce  was  the  shout  of  the  goblins  then  ! 

How  the  gibber  and  laugh  went  round  ! 
The  shout  and  the  laugh  of  a  thousand  men, 
Echoed  and  answered,  and  echoed  again, 

Had  given  a  feebler  sound. 

Cl  Straight  toward  the  blackness  drove  the  ship  ; 

But  the  youth  still  clung  to  the  mast  : 
'I  have  read,'  quoth  he,  Avith  a  proud,  cold  ]ip, 
'  That  the  devil  gets  never  a  man  on  the  hip 

Whom  he  scares  not  first  or  last. ' 

"  Nearer  the  blackness  loomed  ;  and  the  bark 


EATHR1NA.  121 

Scudded  before  the  breeze  ; 
Nearer  the  blackness  loomed,  and  hark  ! 
The  crash  of  breakers  out  of  the  dark, 

And  the  shock  of  plunging  seas  ! 

"  O  !  woe  !  for  the  woman's  wits  ran  daft 

With  the  fearful  bruit  and  burst ; 
She  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  flitting  aft, 
She  plunged  in  the  sea,  and  the  black  waves  quaffed 

The  sweet  life  they  had  cursed. 

"Light  leaped  the  bark  on  the  mountain-breast 

Of  a  tenth-wave  out  to  land  ; 
While  the  sprites  of  the  sea  fell  off  to  rest, 
And  the  youth,  unharmed,  became  the  guest 

Of  the  elves  of  the  silent  land. 

"With  banter  and  buffet  they  pressed  around  ; 

They  tied  his  strong  hands  fast ; 
But  he  laughed,  and  said,  '  I  have  read  and  found 
That  the  devil  throws  never  a  man  to  the  ground 

Whom  he  scares  not,  first  or  last.' 


122  KATHB1NA. 

"Under  the  charred  and  ghastly  gloom, 

Over  the  flinty  stones, 
They  led  him  forth  to  his  terrible  doom, 
And,  plunged  in  a  deep  and  noisome  tomb, 

They  sat  him.  among  the  bones. 

"  They  left  liini  there  in  the  crawling  mire  '. 

They  could  neither  maim,  nor  kill : 
For  fiends  of  water,  and  earth,  and  fire. 
Are  baffled  and  beaten  by  the  ire 
Of  a  dauntless  human  will. 

"Days  flushed  and  faded,  months  passed  away. 

He  knew  by  the  golden  light 
That  shot,  through  a  loop  in  the  wall,  the  ray 
Which  parted  the  short  and  slender  day 

From  the  long  and  doleful  night. 

"  Was  it  a  vision  that  cheated  his  eyes  ? 

Was  he  awake,  or  no  ? 
He  stared  through  the  loop  with  keen  surprise  ; 


KATUR1NA.  123 

For  lie  saw  a  sweet  angel  from  the  skies, 
With  white  wings,  folded  low. 

"  Could  she  not  loose  him  from  his  thrall, 

And  lead  him  into  the  light  ? 
'Ah  me  !'  he  murmured,  '  I  dare  not  call, 
Lest  she  may  doubt  it  a  goblin's  waul, 

And  leave  me  in  swift  affright  !' 

"  She  plumed  her  wings  with  a  noiseless  haste  ; 

He  could  neither  call  nor  ciy  : 
She  vanished  into  the  sunny  waste, 
Into  far  blue  air  that  he  longed  to  taste  ; 

And  he  cursed  that  he  could  not  die. 

"  But  she  came  again,  and  every  day 

He  worshiped  her  where  she  shone  ; 
And  again  she  left  him  and  floated  away, 
But  his  faithless  tongue  refused  to  pray 
For  the  boon  she  could  give  alone. 

"  And  there  he  sits  in  his  dumb  despair, 


124  KATHRINA. 

And  his  watching  eyes  grow  dim  : 
Would  God  that  his  coward  lips  might  dare 
To  utter  the  word  to  the  angel  fair, 

That  is  life  or  death  to  him  !" 


I  marked  her  as  I  read,  a  furtive  glance 
Filling  each  pause.     The  passion  of  the  piece, 
Flaming  and  fading,  ever  and  anon, 
Mirrored  itself  within  her  tender  eyes, 
Themselves  the  mirror  of  her  tender  soul, 
And  fixed  attent  upon  my  face  the  while. 
She  had  not  caught  my  meaning,  but  had  heard 
Only  a  weird,  wild  story.     When  I  paused, 
Folding  the  manuscript,  I  saw  a  shade 
Of  disappointment  sweep  her  face,  and  marked. 
A  question  rising  in  her  eyes.     She  knew 
That  I  was  waiting  for  her  words,  and  turned 
Her  look  away,  and  for  long  moments  gazed 
Into  the  brooding  dusk. 

"Speak  it !"  I  said. 


KATEE1NA.  las 

"  'Twas  very  strange  and  sad,"  she  answered  me. 
"Why  do  you  write  sucli  tilings  ? — or,  writing  sucli, 
Leave  them  so  incomplete  ?     The  prisoned  youth, 
Thus  unreleased,  will  haunt  me  while  I  live; 
I  shudder  while  I  think  of  him." 

Then  I : 

"  The  poem  will  be  finished  by-and-by, 
For  this  is  history,  and  antedates 
No  fact  that  it  records.     Whether  this  youth 
Shall  live  entombed,  or  reach  the  blessed  air, 
Depends  upon  his  angel ;  for  he  calls — 
I  hear  him  call,  and  call  again  her  name 
Kathrina  !     O  !  Kathrina  !" 

Like  the  flash 

Of  the  hot  lightning,  the  significance 
Of  the  strange  vision  gleamed  upon  her  face 
In  a  bright,  throbbing  flame,  that  fell  full  soon 
To  ashen  paleness.     By  unconscious  will 
We  both  arose.     She  vainly  tried  to  speak, 
And  gazed  into  my  eyes  with  such  a  look 


126  KATHR1NA. 

Of  tender  questioning,  of  half -reproach, 
Of  straggling,  doubting,  hesitating  joy, 
As  few  men  ever  see,  and  none  but  once. 

Are  there  not  lofty  moments,  when  the  soul 

Leaps  to  the  front  of  being,  casting  off 

The  robes  and  clumsy  instruments  of  sense, 

And,  postured  in  its  immortality, 

Beveals  its  independence  of  the  clod 

In  which  it  dwells  ? — moments  in  which  the  earth 

And  all  material  things,  all  sights  and  sounds. 

All  signals,  ministries,  interpreters, 

Kelapse  to  nothing,  and  the  interflow 

Of  thought  and  feeling,  love  and  life  go  on 

BetAveen  two  spirits,  raised  to  sympathy 

By  an  inspiring  passion,  as,  in  heaven, 

The  body  dust  within  an  orb  outlived, 

It  shall  go  on  forever  ? 

Moments  like  these — 

Nay,  these  in  very  truth — were  given  us  then. 
Who  shall  expound  ! — ah  !  who  but  God  alone. 


KATHRINA.  127 

Tlie  everlasting  mystery  of  love  ? 
She  spoke  not,  but  I  knew  that  she  was  mine. 
1  breathed  no  word,  but  she  was  well  assured 
That  I  was  wholly  hers. 

In  what  disguise 

Our  love  had  hid,  and  wrought  its  miracle  ; 
Behind  what  semblance  of  indifference, 
Or  play  of  courtesy,  it  spun  the  chords 
That  bound  our  hearts  in  one,  was-  mystery 
Like  love  itself.     The  swift  intelligence 
Of  interchange  of  perfect  faith  and  troth, 
Of  gift  of  life  and  person,  of  the  thrill 
Of  triumph  in  ray  soul,  and  gratitude 
In  hers,  without  a  gesture,  or  a  word, 
Was  like  the  converse  of  the  continents — 
Tracking  with  voiceless  flight  the  slender  wire 
That  underlay  the  throbbing  mystery 
Between  our  souls,  and  made  our  heart- beats  one, 
I  opened  wide  my  aims,  and  she,  my  own, 
Sobbed  on  my  breast  with  such  excess  of  joy, 
In  such  embrace  of  passionate  tenderness, 


128  KATIIRINA. 

As  heaven  may  yield  again,  but  never  earth. 
Slow  in  the  golden  twilight,  toward  her  home, 
Her  hand  upon  my  arm,  we  loitered  on, 
Silent  at  first,  and  then  with  quiet  speech 
Broaching  our  plans,  or  tracing  in  review 
The  history  of  our  springing  love,  when  she, 
Lifting  her  soft  blue  eyes  to  mine  : 

"Dear  Paul! 

There  are  some  things,  and  some  I  will  not  name, 
That  make  me  sad,  e'en  in  this  height  of  joy. 
In  the  wild  lay  that  you  have  read  to-night, 
You  make  too  much  of  me.     No  heart  of  man, 
Though  loving  well  and  loving  worthily, 
Can  be  content  with  any  human  love. 
No  woman,  though  the  pride  and  paragon 
Of  all  her  sex,  can  take  the  place  of  God. 
No  angel  she  ;  nor  is  she  quite  a  man 
In  power  and  courage, — gifts  which   charm  her 

most, 

And  which,  possessing  most,  disrobe  her  charms, 
And  make  her  less  a  woman.     If  she  stand 


feLO\V    IN  THE  GOLDEN    TWILIGHT   TOWAKI)    HIill   HOME, 
IlEK  HAM)  UI'ON  MY  AI!M,  WE    LOITERED  ON. 


KATHR1NA.  129 

In  fair  equality  with  man — Ms  mate — 
Each  unto  each  the  rounded  complement 
Of  their  humanity,  it  is  enough  ; 
And  such  equality  must  ever  He 
In  their  unequal  gifts.     This  thing,  at  least, 
Is  true  as  God  :  she  is  not  more  than  he, 
And  sits  upon  no  throne.     To  be  adored 
By  man,  she  must  be  placed  upon  a  throne 
Built  by  his  hands,  and  sit  an  idol  there, 
Degraded  by  the  measure  of  the  flight 
Between  God's  thought  and  man's." 

Responding  I : 

"  Fix  your  own  place,  my  love  ;  it  is  your  right, 
'Tis  well  to  have  a  theory,  and  sit 
In  the  centre  of  it,  mistress  of  its  law, 
And  subject  also  ; — to  set  men  up  here 
And  woman  there,  in  a  fine  equipoise 
Of  gift  and  grace  and  import.     It  conveys 
To  nicely- working  minds  a  pleasant  sense 
Of  order,  like  a  well-appointed  room, 
Where  one  may  see,  in  various  stuff's  and  wares, 


130  KATHRINA. 

Forethoughts  of  color  brought  to  harmony  ; 
Strict  balancings  of  quantity  and  form ; 
Flowers  in  the  centre,  and,  beside  the  grate, 
A  rack  for  shovel  and  tongs.     But  minds    like 

these 

(Your  pardon,  love  !)  are  likely  to  arrange 
The  window-lights  to  save  the  furniture, 
And  spoil  the  pictures  on  the  wall.     And  you, 
In  the  adjustment  of  your  theory, 
Would  shut  the  light  from  her  whose  mind  inf orros 
Its  harmonies.     All  worship,  in  my  thought, 
Goes  hand  in  hand  with  love.     We  cannot  love, 
And  fail  to  worship  what  we  love.     While  you 
Worship  the  strength  and  courage  which  you  find 
In  him  who  has  your  heart,  he  bows  to  all 
Of  faith  and  sweetness  which  he  finds  in  you. 
If,  in  our  worship,  we  have  need  to  build 
Noblest  ideals,  taking  much  from  God 
With  which  to  make  them  perfect  in  our  eyes, 
Shall  God  mark  blame?    We  worship   Him   the 

while, 
In  attributes  His  own,  or  attributes 


KATHR1NA.  131 

With  which  our  thought  invests  him.    As  for  me 
lt  is  no  secret — I  ana  what  you  call 
A  godless  man  ;  yet  what  is  worshipful, 
Or  seerns  to  be  so,  that  with  all  my  heart 
I  worship  ;  and  I  worship  while  I  love. 
You  deem  yourself  the  dwelling-place  of  God, 
And  keep  your  spirit  cleanly  for  His  feet. 
All  merit  you  abjure,  ascribing  all 
To  Him  who  dwells  within  you.     How  can  you 
Forbid  that  I  fall  down  and  worship  you, 
When  what  I  find  to  worship  is  not  yours, 
But  God's  alone  ?    I  know  the  ecstasy 
Enlarges,  strengthens,  purifies  my  soul, 
And  blesses  me  with  peace.     My  love,  my  life. 
You  are  my  all.     I  have  no  other  good, 
And,  in  this  moment  of  my  happiness, 
I  ask  no  other." 

Tears  were  in  her  eyes, 

Her  clasped  hands  clinging  fondly  to  my  arm, 
While  under  droop  of  lashes  she  replied  : 
"  I  feel,  dear  Paul,  that  this  is  sophistry. 


132  KATHRINA. 

It  does  not  touch  rny  judgment  or  my  heart 

With  motive  of  conviction.     In  what  way 

God  may  be  working  to  reclaim  your  will 

And  worship  to  Himself,  I  cannot  know. 

If  through  your  love  for  me,  or  mine  for  you, 

Then  as  his  grateful,  willing  instrument, 

I  yield  myself  to  Him.     But  this  is  true  : 

God  is  not  worshiped  in  his  attributes. 

I  do  not  love  your  attributes,  but  you. 

Your  attributes  all  meet  me  otherwhere, 

Blended  in  other  personalities, 

Nor  do  I  love,  nor  do  I  worship  them, 

Or  those  who  bear  them.     E'en  the  spotted  pard 

Will  dare  a  danger  which  will  make  you  pale, 

But  shall  his  courage  steal  my  heart  from  you  ? 

You  cheat  your  conscience,  for  ypu  know  that  I 

May  like  your  attributes,  yet  love  not  you  ; 

Nay,  worship  them  indeed,  despising  you. 

I  do  not  argue  thus  to  damp  your  joy, 

But  make  it  rational.     If  you  presume 

Perfection  in  me, — if  you  lavish  all 

The  largess  of  your  worship  and  your  lovo 


KATHR1NA.  133 

On  me,  imposing  on  my  head  a  crown 
Stolen  from  God's,  there  surely  "waits  your  heart 
The  pang  of  disappointment.     There  will  come 
A  sad,  sad  time,  when,  in  your  famished  soul. 
The  cry  for  something  more,  and  more  divine, 
Will  rise,  nor  be  repressed." 

There  is  a  charm 

In  earnestness,  when  it  inspires  the  lips 
Of  one  we  love,  that  spoils  their  argument, 
And  yields  so  much  of  pleasure  and  of  pride, 
That  the  conviction  which  they  seek  evades 
Their  eager  fingers,  and  with  throbbing  wings 
Crows  from  its  covert. 

She  was  casuist, 

Cunning  and  clear ,  and  I  was  proud  of  her  ; 
And  though  I  knew  that  she  had  swept  away 
My  refuges  of  lies  like  chaff,  and  proved 
My  fair  words  fustian,  I  was  moved  to  mirth 
Over  the  solemn  ruin.     Had  it  been 
A  decent  thing  to  do,  I  should  have  laughed 


134  EATHR1NA. 

Full  in  her  face  ;  but  knowing  that  her  words 
Were  offspring  of  her  conscience  and  her  love, 
I  could  no  less  than  hold  respectfully 
Her  earnest  warning. 

"Wen,  I'll  take  the  risk," 
I  said.     "  While  you  shall  have  the  argument, 
I  will  have  you,  whom,  on  the  whole,  I  like 
Better  than  that.     And  you  shall  have  your  way, 
And  I  my  own,  in  common  liberty, 
With  things  like  these.     You,  doubtless,  are  to  me 
What  I  am  not  to  you.     We  are  unlike 
In  life  and  circumstance — alike  alone 
In  this  :  that  better  than  ah"  else  on  earth 
We  love  each  other.     This  is  basis  broad 
For  happiness,  or  broad  enough  for  me. 
If  you  build  better,  you  are  fortunate, 
Ay,  fortunate  indeed ;  and  some  fine  day 
We'll  talk  about  it.     Let  us  have  to-night 
Joy  in  our  new  possessions,  and  defer 
This  little  joust  of  wits  and  consciences 
To  more  convenient  season. " 


KATHR1NA.  185 

We  had  reached 

The  cottage  door  at  this  ;  and  there  her  aunt 
Awaited  our  return.     So,  hand  in  hand, 
Assuming  show  of  rustic  bashfulness, 
We  paused  before  her,  and  with  bows  profound 
Made  our  obeisance. 

"  Well  ?"  she  said  at  length 
"  Well  ?— and  what  of  it  ?" 

"Are  you  not  surprised  ?" 
I  asked. 

"  Surprised,  indeed  !     Surprised  at  what  ?" 

"At  what  you  see  :  and  this  !  and  this  !"  I  said, 

Planting  a  kiss  upon  each  lovely  cheek 

Of  my  betrothed,  that  straightway  bloomed  with 

rose. 
"What !  are  you  blind,  my  aunt  ?" 

"You  silly  fools  1 


136  KATHE1NA 

I've  seen  it  from  the  first,"  slie  answered  me. 
"No  doubt  you  thought  that  you  were  very  deep, 
Very  mysterious — all  that  sort  of  thing. 
I've  watched  you,  and  if  you,  young  man,  had 

been 

Aught  but  a  coward,  it  had  come  before, 
And  saved  some  sleep  o'uights  to  both  of  you. 
But  down  upon  your  knees,  for  benison 
Of  one  who  loves  you  both." 

We  knelt,  and  then 

She  kissed  us,  leaving  on  our  cheeks  the  tears 
That  sprang  to  brim  the  moment.     Her  shrewd 

eyes, 

That  melted  in  the  sympathy  of  love, 
Would  not  meet  ours  again,  but  turned  away, 
And  sought  in  solitude  to  drain  themselves 
Of  their  strange  passion. 

God  forbid  that  I, 

With  weak  and  sacrilegious  lips,  betray 
The  confidence  of  love  ;  or  tear  aside 


EATHR1NA.  137 

The  secrecy  behind  whose  snowy  folds 

Honor  and  virgin  modesty  retire 

For  holiest  communion  !    For  the  fire 

Which  burns  upon  that  altar  is  of  God. 

Its  tongues  of  flame,  throughout  all  time  and  space, 

Speak  but  one  language,  understood  by  all, 

But  sacred  ever  to  the  wedded  hearts 

That  listen  to  their  breathings. 

In  the  deep  hours  of  night 
J  left  the  cottage,  brain  and  heart  o'orfilled 
With  the  ethereal  vintage  I  had  quaffed. 
Disturbing  not  the  drowsy  ferryman, 
I  slipped  his  little  wherry  from  the  sand, 
And  in  the  star-sprent  river  lipped  the  oars 
That  pulled  me  homeward.     The  enchanting  tide 
Was  smooth  continuation  of  the  dream 
On  which  my  spirit,  holily  afloat, 
Had  glided  tlirough  long  hours  of  happiness. 
Earth,  by  the  strange,  delicious  ecstasy, 
Was  changed  to  paradise  ;  and  something  kin 
To  gratitude  arose  within  my  soul — 


138  KATHR1NA. 

A  fleeting  passion,  dying  all  too  soon, 
Lacking  the  root  winch  faith  alone  can  feed. 

I  touched  the  shore  ;  but  when  niy  hasting  feet 

Started  the  homeward  walk,  there  came  a  change. 

Down  from,  the  quiet  stars  there  fell  a  voice, 

Heard  in  the  innermost,  that  troubled  me  : 

"  She  is  not  more  than  you  :  why  worship  her  ? 

"  And  she  will  die  ;  what  will  remain  for  you  ? 

"  You  may  die  first,  indeed  :  then  what  resource  ? 

' '  You  have  no  sympathy  with  her  in  things 

"  Ordained  within  her  conscience  and  her  life, 

"  The   things  supreme  :    can  there    be   marriage 

thus  ? 

"Is  e'en  such  bliss  as  may  be  possible 
"  Sure  to  be  yours  ?    Fate  has  a  thousand  hands 
"  To  dash  your  lifted  cup." 

With  thoughts  like  these, 
A  vague  uneasiness  pervaded  me, 
And  toned  the  triumph  of  my  passion,  till, 
Almost  in  anger,  I  exclaimed  at  last  : 


139 

"Tliis  is  reaction.     I  have  flown  too  high 
'  •  Above  the  healthy  level,  and  I  feel 
"  The  press  of  denser  air.     The  equipoise 
"  Of  circumstance  and  feeling  will  be  reached 
••  All  in  good  time.     Rest  and  to-morrow's  sun 
"Will  bring  the  remedy,  and,  with  the  mists, 
"  This  cloud  will  pass  away." 

Then  with  clenched  handa 
I  swore  I  would  be  happy, — that  my  soul 
Should  find  its  satisfaction  in  her  love  ; 
And  that,  if  ever  there  should  come  a  time 
Of  cold  satiety,  or  I  should  find 
Weakness    or    fault    where    I    had  thought 

strength 

And  full  perfection,  I  would  e'en  endow 
Her  poverty  with  all  the  hoarded  wealth 
Of  my  imagination,  making  her 
The  woman  of  my  want,  in  plenitude 
Of  strength  and  loveliness. 

The  breezy  days 


140  KATHE1NA. 

Over  whose  waves  my  buoyant  life  careered, 
Boiled  to  October,  falling  on  its  beach 
With  bursts  of  mellow  music ;  and  I  leaped 
Upon  the  longed  for  shore,  for  in  that  month 
My  dear  betrothed,  deferring  to  the  stress 
Of  my  impatient  wish,  had  promised  me 
Her  hand  in  wedlock. 

Ere  the  happy  day 
DaAvned  on  the  world,  the  world  was   draped   in 

robes 

Meet  for  the  nuptials.     Baths  of  sunny  haze, 
Steeping  the  ripening  leaves  from  day  to  day, 
And  dainty  kisses  of  the  frost  at  night, 
Joined  in  the  subtile  alchemy  that  wrought 
Such  miracles  of  change,  that  myriad  trees 
Which  pranked  the  meads  and  clothed  the  forest 

glooms 

Bloomed  with  the  tints  of  Eden.     Had  the  earth 
Been  splashed  with  blood  of  grapes  from  every 

clime, 
Tinted  from  topaz  to  dim  carbuncle, 


KATHR1XA.  141 

Or  orient  ruby,  it  would  not  have  been 
Drenched  with  such  waste  of  color.     All  the  hues 
The  rainbow  knows,  and  all  that  meet  the  eye 
In  flowers  of  field  and  garden,  joined  to  tell 
Each  tree's  close-folded  secret.     Side  by  side 
Hose  sister  maples,  some  in  amber  gold, 
Others  incarnadine  or  tipped  with  flame  ; 
And  oaks  that  for  a  hundred  years  had  stood, 
And  flouted  one  another  through  the  storms — 
Boasting  their  might — proclaimed  their  pique  or 

pride 

In  dun,  or  dyes  of  Tyre.     The  sumach-leaves 
Blazed  with  such  scarlet  that  the  crimson  fruit 
Which  hung  among  their  flames  was  touched   to 

guise 

Of  dim  and  dying  embers  ;  while  the  hills 
That  met  the  sky  at  the  horizon's  rim — 
Dabbled  with  rose  among  the  evergreens, 
Or  stretching  off  in  sweeps  of  clouted  crimson- 
glowed 

As  if  the  archery  of  sunset  clouds, 
By  squads  and  fierce  battalions,  had  rained  dowii 


142  KATR'RINA. 

Its  barbed  and  feathered  fire,  and  left  it  fast 
To  advertise  th'  exploit. 

In  sucli  a.  pomp 

Of  autumn  glory,  by  the  simplest  rites, 
Kathrina  gave  her  hand  to  me,  and  I 
Pledged  truth  and  life  to  her.     I  bore  her  home 
Through  shocks  of  maize,  revealing  half  their  gold, 
Past  gazing  harvesters  with  creaking  wains 
That  brimmed  with  fruitage — my  adored,  my  wife, 
Fruition  of  my  hope — the  proudest  freight 
That  ever  passed  that  way  ! 

My  troops  of  friends, 

Grown  strangely  warm  and  strangely  numerous 
With  scent  of  novelty  and  pleasant  cheer, 
Assisted  me  to  place  upon  her  throne 
My  household  queen.     Bight  royally  she  sat 
The  new-born  dignity.     Most  graciously 
She  spoke  and  smiled  among  the  silken  clouds 
That,  fold  on  perfumed  fold,  like  frankincense 
Enveloped  her,  through  half  the  festal  night, 


KATHE1NA.  143 

With  welcome  and  good  wishes.     I  was  proud  ; 
For  was  not  I  a  king  where  she1  was  queen  ? 
And  queen  she  was — though  consort  in  my  home, 
Queen  regnant  in  the  realm  of  womanhood, 
By  right  of  every  charm. 

Into  her  place, 

As  mistress  of  all  home  economies, 
She  slid  without  a  jar,  as  if  the  Fates, 
By  concert  of  foreordinate  design, 
Had  fitted  her  for  it,  and  it  for  her, 
And,  having  joined  them  well,  were  satisfied. 
Obedient  to  the  orbit  of  our  love, 
"We  came  and  went,  revolving  round  our  home 
In  spheral  harmony — twin  stars  made  one, 
And  loyal  to  one  law. 

When  at  our  board, 
All  viands  lifted  by  her  hand  became 
Ambrosial ;  and  her  light,  elastic  step 
From  room  to  room,  in  busy  household  carus, 
Timed  with  my  heart,  and  filled  me  with  a  sense 


144  KATU1UNA. 

Of  harmony  and  peace.     Days,  weeks,  and  months 
Lapsed  hive  soft  measures,   rhyming    each  with 

each, 

All  charged  with  thoughtful  ministries  to  me, 
And  not  to  me  alone  ;  for  I  was  proud 
To  know  that  she  was  counted  by  the  good 
As  a  good  power  among  them, — by  the  poor, 
As  angel  sent  of  God,  on  whom  they  called 
His  blessing  down. 

She  held  her  separate  life 
Of  prayer  and  Christian  service,  without  show 
Of  sanctity,  without  obtrusiveness  ; 
And,  though  I  could  but  know  she  never  sought 
A  blessing  for  herself,  forgetting  me 
In  her  petition,  not  in  all  those  months 
Did  word  of  difference  betray  the  gulf 
Between  our  soiils  and  lives.     She  had  her  plan  : 
I  guessed  it,  and  respected  it.     She  felt 
That  if  her  life  were  not  an  argument 
To  move  me,  nothing  that  her  lips  might  say 
Could  win  me  to  her  wish.     Pride  would  repel 


KA  THE1NA.  145 

What  it  could  not  refute,  and  pleasantry 
Piiny  the  thrusts  that  love  could  not  resent. 


A  whole  year  sped,  yet  not  a  line  of  verse 
Had  grown  beneath  my  pen.     When  I  essayed 
To  brace  my  powers  to  effort,  and  to  call 
Forth  from  their  camp  and  covert  the  bright  ranks 
Of  tuneful  numbers,  no  responsive  shout 
Answered  the  bugle-blast,  and  from  niy  hand — 
Irresolute  and  nerveless  as  a  babe's — 
My  falchion  fell. 

She  rallied  nie  on  this  ; 

But  I  had  naught  to  say,  save  this,  perhaps  : 
That  she,  being  all  my  world,  had  left  no  room 
For  other  occupation  than  my  love. 
She  did  not  smile  at  this  :  it  was  no  jest, 
But  saddest  truth.     I  had  grown  enervate 
In  the  warm  atmosphere  which  I  had  breathed  : 
And  this,  with  consciousness  that  in  her  soul — 
As  warm  with  love  as  mine — each  gentle  power 


146  KATHR1NA. 

Was  kindling  with  new  life  from  day  to  day, 
Growing  with  nay  decline. 

Well,  in  good  time 

There  carne  to  us  a  child,  the  miniature 
Of  her  on  whose  dear  breast  my  babyhood 
Was  nursed  and  cradled  ;  and  my  happy  heart, 
Charged  with  a  double  tenderness,  received 
And  blessed  the  precious  gift.     Another  fount 
Of  human  love  gurgled  to  meet  my  lips. 
Another  store  of  good,  as  rich  and  pure, 
In  its  own  kind,  as  that  from  which  I  drank, 
Was  thus  discovered  to  my  taste,  and  I 
Feasted  upon  its  fulness. 

With  the  gift 

That  brimmed  my  cup  of  joy,  there  came  a  grace 
To  her  who  bore  it  of  fresh  loveliness. 
If  I  had  loved  the  maiden  and  the  bride, 
The  mother,   through  whose   pain   my  heart   hud 

won 
Its  new  possession,  fastened  to  my  heart 


KATHE1NA.  147 

With  a  new  sympathy.     Whatever  dross 

Our  months  of  intimacy  had  betrayed 

Within  her  character,  was  purged  away, 

And  she  was  left  pure  gold.     Nay,  I  should  say, 

Whatever  goodness  had  not  been  revealed 

.Through  the  relations  of  her  heart  to  mine 

As  loving  maid  and  mistress,  found  the  light 

Through  her  maternity.     A  heavenly  change 

Passed  o'er  her  soul  and  o'er  her  pallid  face, 

As  if  the  unconscious  yearning  of  a  life 

Had  found  full  satisfaction  in  the  birth 

Of  the  new  being.     Her  long  weariness 

Was  but  a  trance  of  peace  and  gratitude  ; 

And  as  she  lay — her  babe  upon  her  breast, 

Her  eyelids  closed — I  could  but  feel  that  heaven, 

Should  it  hold  ah1  the  good  of  which  she  dreamed, 

Had  litUe  more  for  her. 

And  when  again 

She  moved  about  the  house,  in  ministry 
To  me  and  to  her  helpless  child,  I  knew 
That  I  had  tasted  every  precious  good 


148  KATHR1NA. 

That  woman  bears  to  man.     Ay,  more  than  this : 

That  not  one  man  in  thousands  had  received 

Such  largess  of  affection,  and  such  prize. 

Of  womanhood,  as  I  had  found  in  her, 

And  made  my  own.     The  whole  enchanting  rouml 

Of  pure  domestic  commerce  had  been  mine 

A  lover  blest,  a  husband  satisfied, 

A  father  crowned  !    Love  had  no  other  boon 

To  offer  me,  and  held  within  its  gift 

No  other  title. 

Thus  within  the  space 
Of  two  swift  years,  I  traversed  the  domain 
Of  novelty,  and  learned  that  I  must  glean 
The  garnered  fields  of  my  experience 
To  gratify  the  greed  that  still  possessed 
My  sateless  heart.     The  time  had  come  to  me — 
Which  I  had  half  foreseen — when,  by  my  will, 
My  interest  in  those  I  loved  should  live 
Predominant  in  all  my  life.     I  nursed 
With  jealous  care  my  passion  for  my  wife. 
I  raised  her  to  an  apotheosis 


EATHR1NA.  149 

In  my  imagination,  where  I  bowed 
And  paid  my  constant  homage.     I  was  still 
Her  fond  and  loyal  lover  ;  but  my  heart, 
That  had  so  freely  drunk,  with  full  content, 
Had  seen  the  bottom  of  the  cup  she  held  ; 
And  what  remained  but  tricks  to  eke  it  out, 
And  artifice  to  give  it  piquancy, 
And  sips  to  cool  my  tongue,  the  while  my  heart 
Was  hollow  with  its  thirst  ?     My  little  child 
Was  precious  to  my  soul  beyond  all  price  ; 
"Mother  and  babe  were  all  that  they  could  be 
To  any  heart  of  man  ;  and  yet — and  yet ! 

Of  ah1  the  dull,  dead  weights  man  ever  bore, 
Sure,  none  can  wear  the  soul  with  discontent 
Like  consciousness  of  power  unused.     To  feel 
That  one  has  gift  to  move  the  multitude, — 
To  act  upon  the  life  of  humankind 
By  force  of  will,  or  fire  of  eloquence, 
Or  voice  of  lofty  art,  and  yet,  to  feel 
No  stir  of  mighty  motive  in  the  soul 
To  action  or  endeavor  ;  to  behold 


150  EATHR1NA. 

The  fairest  prizes  of  this  fleeting  life 
Borne  off  by  patient  men  who,  day  by  day, 
By  bravest  toil  and  struggle,  reach  the  heights 
Of  great  achievement,  toiling,  struggling  thus 
With  a  strong  joy,  and  with  a  fine  contempt 
For  soft  and  selfish  passion  ;  to  see  this, 
Yet  cling  to  such  a  passion,  like  a  slave 
Who  hugs  his  chains  in  sluggish  impotence, 
Refusing  freedom  lest  he  lose  the  crust 
The  chain  of  bondage  warrants  him — ah  !  this 
Is  misery  indeed ! 

Such  misery- 
Was  mine.     I  held  the  consciousness  of  power 
To  labor  even-headed  with  the  best 
Who  wrought  for  fame,  or  strove  to  make  thenv 

selves 

Felt  in  the  world's  great  life  ;  and  yet,  I  felt 
Ko  lift  to  enterprise,  from  heaven  above 
Or  earth  beneath  ;  for  neither  God  nor  man 
Lived  in  my  love.     My  home  held  all  my  world  ; 
Yet  it  was  evident, — I  felt,  I  knew — 


MY  IIOME  HELD  ALL  MY  WORLD. 


KATHR1NA.  101 

That  naught  could  fill  ray  opening  want  but  toil ; 
And  there  were  times  when  I  had  hailed  with  joy 
The  curse  of  poverty,  compelling  me 
To  labor  for  my  bread,  and  for  the  bread 
Of  those  I  loved. 

My  neighbors  all  around 

Were  happy  in  their  work.     The  plodding  hind 
Who   served    niy  hand,    or   groomed    my  petted 

hor.se, 

Whistled  about  his  work  with  merry  heart, 
And  filled  his  measure  of  content  with  toil. 
In  all  the  streets  and  ah1  the  busy  fields 
Men  were  astir,  and  doing  with  their  might 
What  their  hands  found  to  do.     They  drove  the 

plough, 
They  trafficked,    builded,   delved,  they  spun  and 

wove, 
They  taught  and  preached,  they  hasted  up   and 

down 

Each  on  his  little  errand,  and  their  eyes 
Were  full  of  eager  fire,  as  if  the  earth 


152  EATHRIltA. 

And  all  its  vast  concerns  were  on  their  hands. 
Their  homes  were  fresh  with  guerdon  every  night, 
And  ripe  with  impulse  to  new  industry 
At  each  new  dawn. 

I  saw  all  this,  but  knew 

That  they  were  not  like  me — were  most  unlike 
In  constitution  and  condition.     Thus, 
My  power  to  do,  and  do  the  single  thing 
My  power  was  shaped  to  do,  became,  instead 
Of  wings  to  bear  me,  weights  to  burden  me. 
The  moiling  multitude  for  little  tasks 
Found  little  motives  plenty  ;  bitt  for  me, 
Whom  in  my  indolence  they  all  despised — 
Not  understanding  me — no  motive  rose 
To  lash  or  lead.     Even  the  love  I  dreamed 
Would  give  me  impulse  had  defrauded  me. 
Feeble  and  proud  ;  strong,  yet  emasculate  ; 
Centred  in  self,  and  still  despising  self  ; 
Goaded,  yet  held  ;  convinced,  but  never  moved  ; 
Such  conflict  ofttirn.es  held  and  harried  me 
That  death  had  met  with  welcome.     If  I  read, 


.    KATHRINA.  153 

I  read  to  kill  ray  time.     No  interest 

In  the  great  thoughts  of  others  moved  my  soul, 

Because  I  had  no  object  :  useless  quite 

The  knowledge  and  the  culture  I  possessed ; 

And  if  I  rode,  the  stale  monotony 

Of  the  familiar  landscapes  sickened  me. 

In  these  dull  years,  my  toddling  little  wean 

Grew  into  prattling  childhood,  and  I  gained 

Such  fresh  delight  from  her  as  kept  my  heart 

From  fatal  gloom  ;  but  more  and  more  I  shunned  - 

The  world  around  me,  more  and  more  drew  in 

The  circle  of  my  life,  until,  at  last, 

My  home  became  my  hermitage.     I  knew 

The  dissolution  of  the  spell  would  come, 

And,  though  I  dreaded  it,  I  longed  to  greet 

The  crash  and  transformation.     If  my  pride 

Forbade  the  full  confession  to  my  wife 

That  time  had  verified  her  prophecy, 

It  failed  to  hold  the  truth  from  her.     Slue  read, 

With  a  true  woman's  insight,  all  my  heart ; 

But,  with  a  woman's  sensitiveness,  shrank 


154  KAT1IRINA. 

From  questions  which  might  seem  to  carry  blame  ; 
And  so,  for  years,  there  lay  between  our  souls 
The  bar  of  silence. 

One  sweet  summer  eve, 
After  iny  lamb  was  folded,  and  before 
The  lamps  were  lighted,  as  I  sat  alone 
Within  my  room,  I  heard  reluctant  feet 
Seeking  my  door.     They  paused,  and  then  I  heard: 

"May  I  come  in?" 

"Ay,  you  may  always  come  ; 
And  you  are  welcome  always,"  I  replied. 
The  room  was  dim,  but  I  could  see  her  face 
Was    pale,    and    her    long    lashes    wet.      "Your 

seat," — 

I  said,  with  open  arms.     Upon  my  knee, 
One  hand  upon  my  shoulder,  she  sank  down  • 
As  if  the  heart  within  her  breast  were  lead, 
Aud  she  were  weary  with  its  weight. 


KATHB1NA.  15< 

"My  wife, 

What  burden  now  ?"  I  asked  her  tenderly. 
She  fixed  her  swimming  eyes  on  mine,  and  said  : 
"  My  dear,  you  are  not  happy.     Years  have  gone 
Since  you  have  been  content.     I  bring  no  words 
Of  blame  against  you  :  you  have  been  to  me 
A  comfort  and  a  joy.     Your  constancy 
Has  honored  me  as  few  of  all  my  sex 
Are  honored  by  your  own  ;  but  while  you  pine 
With  secret  pain,  I  am  so  wholly  yours 
-That  I  must  pine  with  you.     I've  waited  long 
For  you  to  speak  ;  and  now  I  come  to  you 
To  ask  you  this  one  question  :  is  there  aught 
Of  toil  or  sacrifice  within  my  power 
To  ease  your  heart,  or  give  you  liberty 
Beyond  the  round  to  which  you  hold  your  feet  ? 
Speak  freely,  frankly,  as  to  one  who  loves 
Her  husband  better  than  her  only  child, 
And  better  than  herself. " 

I  drew  her  head 
Down  to  my  cheek,  and  said  :  "My  angel  wife  ! 


156  KATU111AA. 

Whatever  torment  or  disquietude 

I  may  have  suffered,  you  have  never  been 

Its  cause,  or  its  occasion.     You  are  all — 

You  have  been  all — that  womanhood  can  be 

To  manhood's  want ;  and  in  your  woman's  love 

And  woman's  pain,  I  have  found  every  good 

My  life  has  known  since  first  our  lives  were  joined. 

You  knew  me  better  than  I  knew  myself  ; 

And  your  prophetic  words  have  haunted  me 

Like  thoughts  of  retribution  :  '  There  will  come 

'  A  sad,  sad  time,  wJten  in  your  famished  soul 

'  The  cry  for  something  more,  and  more  divine 

1  Will  rise,  nor  be  repressed.'     For  something  more 

My  spirit  clamors  :  nothing  more  divine 

I  ask  for." 

\ 

"  What  shall  be  this  '  something  more  ?'  " 

"  Work,"  I  replied  ;  "ay,  work,  but  never  here  ; 
Work  among  men,  where  I  may  feel  the  touch 
Of  kindred  life  ;  work  where  the  multitudes 
Are  surging ;  work  where  brains  and  hands 


KATHRINA.  157 

Are  struggling  for  the  prizes  of  the  world  ; 
Work  where  my  spirit,  driven  to  its  bent 
By  competitions  and  great  rivalries, 
Shall  vindicate  its  own  pre-eminence, 
And  wring  from  a  reluctant  world  the  meed 
Of  approbation  and  respect  for  which 
It  yearns  with  awful  hunger  ;  work,  indeed, 
Which  shah1  compel  the  homage  of  the  souls 
That  creep  around  me  here,  and  pity  you 
Because,  forsooth,  the  Fates  have  hobbled  you 
"'With  a  dull  drone.     I  know  how  sweet  the  love 
Of  two  fond  souls  ;  and  I  will  have  the  hearts 
Of  millions.     These  shall  satisfy  my  greed, 
And  round  the  measure  of  my  life  ;  and  these 
My  work  shall  win  me." 


At  these  childish  words 

She  raised  her  head,  and  with  a  sweet,  sad  smile 
Of  love  and  pity  blent,  made  her  response  : 
"  Not  yet,  my  husband — if  your  wife  may  speak 
A  thought  that  crosses  yours — not  yet  have  you 


158  KATHRINA. 

Found  the  great  secret  of  content.     But  work 

May  help  you  toward  it,  and  in  any  aase 

Is  better  far  than  idleness.     For  this, 

You  ask  of  me  to  sacrifice  this  home 

And  all  the  truest  friends  my  life  has  gained. 

I  do  it  from  this  moment ;  glad  to  prove, 

At  any  tender  cost,  my  love  for  you, 

And  faith  in  your  endeavor.     T  will  go 

To  any  spot  of  earth  where  you  may  lead, 

And  go  rejoicing.     Let  us  go  at  once  !" 


"  I  burn  my  ships  behind  me."  I  replied. 
"Measure  the  cost :  be  sure  no  secret  hope 
Of  late  return  be  found  among  the  flames  ; 
For  if  I  go,  I  leave  no  single  thread, 
Save  that  which  binds  me  to  my  mother's  grave, 
To  draw  me  back. " 


"  My  love  shall  be  the  torch 
To  light  the  fire,"  she  answered. 


KATHR1NA.  159 

Then  we  rose, 

And,  with  a  kiss,  marked  a  full  period 
To  love's  excess,  and  with  a  sweet  embrace 
Wrote  the  initial  of  a  stronger  life. 


A  EEFLECTION. 


OH  !  not  by  bread  alone  is  manhood  nourished 

To  its  supreme  estate  ! 
By  every  word  of  God  have  lived  and  flourished 

The  good  men  and  the  great. 
Ay,  not  by  bread  alone  ! 

"  Oh  !  not  by  bread  alone  !"  the  sweet  rose  breath 
ing 

In  throbs  of  perfume,  speaks  ; 
"  But  myriad  hands,  in  earth  and  air,  are  wreath 
ing 

The  blushes  for  my  cheeks. 
Ay,  not  by  bread  alone  !" 


KATHR1NA  101 

"  Oh  !  not  by  bread  alone  !"  proclaims  in  thunder 

The  old  oak  from  his  crest ; 
"  But  suns  and  storms  upon  me,  and  deep  under, 

The  rocks  in  which  I  rest. 
Ay,  not  by  bread  alone  !" 

"  Oh  !  not  by  bread  alone  !"    The  truth  flies  sing 
ing 

In  voices  of  the  birds  : 

And  from  a  thousand  pastured  hills  is  ranging 
The  answer  of  the  herds  : 
"Ay,  not  by  bread  alone  !" 

Oh  !  not  by  bread  alone  !  for  life  and  being 

Are  finely  complex  all, 
And  increment,  with  element  agreeing, 

Must  feed  them,  or  they  fall. 
Ay,  not  by  bread  alone  ! 

Oh  !  not  by  love  alone,  though  strongest,  purest, 

That  ever  swayed  the  heart ; 
For  strongest  passion  evermore  the  surest 


102  KATHB1NA. 

Defrauds  each  manly  part. 
Ay,  not  by  love  alone  ! 

Oil !  not  by  love  alone  is  power  engendered. 

Until  within  the  soul 
The  gift  of  every  motive  has  been  rendered. 

It  is  not  strong  and  whole. 
Ay,  not  by  love  alone  ! 

Oh  !  not  by  love  alone  is  manhood  nourished 

To  its  supreme  estate  : 
By  every  word  of  God  have  lived  and  flourished 

The  good  men  and  the  great. 
Ay,  not  by  love  alone  1 


PAR  T  III. 


LABOR. 

TEN  years  of  love  ! — a  sleep,  a  pleasant  dream 
That  passed  its  culmen  in  the  early  half, 
Concluding  in  confusion — a  wild  scene 
Of  bargains,  auctions,  partings,  and  what  not  ? 
And  an  awaking ! 

I  was  in  Broadway, 
A  unit  hi  a  million.     Like  a  bath 
In  ocean  surf,  blown  in  from  farthest  seas 
Under  the  August  ardors,  the  grand  rush 
Of  crested  life  assailed  me  with  its  waves, 
And  cooled  me  while  it  fired.     With  sturdy  joy 
I  sought  its  broadest  billows,  and  resigned 


164  KATHR1NA. 

My  spirit  to  tlieir  surge  and  sway  ;  and  stood 
In  sheltered  coves,  reached  only  by  the  spume 
And  crepitant  bubbles  of  the  yesty  floods, 
Drinking  the  roar,  the  sheen,  the  restlessness, 
As  inspiration,  both  of  sense  and  soul. 

I  saw  the  waves  of  life  roll  up  the  steps 

Of  great  cathedrals  and  retire  ;  and  break 

In  charioted  grandeur  at  the  feet 

Of  marble  palaces,  and  toss  their  spray 

Of  feathered  beauty  through  the  open  doors, 

To  pile  the  restless  foam  within  ;  and  burst 

On  crowded  caravansaries,  to  fall 

In  quick  return  ;  and  in  dark  currents  glide 

Through  sinuous  alleys  and  the  grimy  loops 

Of  reeking  cellars  ;  and  with  softest  plash 

Assail  the  gilded  shrines  of  opulence, 

And  slide  in  musical  relapse  away. 

With  senses  dazed  and  stunned,  and  soul  o'erfillud 
With  chaos  of  new  thoughts,  I  turned  away, 
And  sought  my  city  home.     There  all  was  calm, 


KATHEINA.  1(55 

Witli  wife  and  daughter  waiting  my  return, 
And  eager  with  their  welcome.     That  was  life  ! — 
An  interest  in  the  great  world  of  life, 
A  place  for  toil  within  a  world  of  toil, 
And  love  for  its  reward.     "Amen  !"  I  said, 
"And  twice  amen  !    I've  found  my  life  at  last, 
And  we  will  all  be  happy. " 

Day  by  day— 

The  wliile  I  sought  adjustment  to  the  life 
Which  I  had  chosen,  and  with  careful  thought 
Gathered  to  hand  the  fair  material 
Elect  by  Fancy  for  the  organism 
Over  whose  germ  she  brooded — I  went  out, 
To  bathe  again  upon  the  shore  of  life 
My  long-enfeebled  nature. 

Every  clay 

I  met  some  face  I  knew.     My  college  friends 
Came  up  in  strange  disguises.     Here  was  one, 
"With  a  white  neck-cloth  and  a  saintly  face, 
Who  had  been  rusticated  and  disgraced 


166  KATHR1NA. 

For  lawlessness.     Now  lie  administered 

A  charge  which  proved  that  he  had  been  at  work, 

And  made  himself  a  man.     And  there  was  one — 

A  lumpy  sort  of  boy,  as  memory 

Recalled  him  to  me — grown  to  portliness 

And  splendid  spectacles.     He  drove  a  chaise, 

And  practised  surgery, — was  on  his  way 

To  meet  a  class  of*youth,  who  sought  to  be 

Groat  surgeons  like  himself,  and  took  full  notes 

Of  all  his  stolen  wisdom.     By  his  watch — 

A  gold  repeater,  with  a  mighty  chain — 

He  gave  me  just  five  minutes  ;  then  rolled  off — 

Pretension  upon  wheels.     Another  grasped 

My  hand  as  if  I  were  his  bosom  friend, 

Just  in  from  a  long  voyage.     He  was  one 

Who  stole  my  wood  in  college,  and  received 

With  grace  the  kick  I  gave  him.     He  had  grown 

To  be  the  tail  of  a  portentous  firm 

Of  city  lawyers  :  managed,  as  he  said, 

The  matter  of  collections  ;  and  had  made 

In  his  small  way— to  use  his  modest  phrase  : 

Truthtal  as  modest — quite  a  pretty  plum. 


RATHR1NA.  167 

He  was  o'erjoyed  to  see  me  in  the  town  : 
Hoped  I  would  call  upon  him  at  liis  den  : 
If  I  had  any  business  in  his  line, 
Would  do  it  for  me  promptly  ;  as  for  price, 
No  need  to  talk  of  tliat  between  two  friends  ! 

But  these,  and  all — the  meanest  and  the  best — 

Were  hard  at  work.     They  always  questioned'  me 

Before  we  parted,  touching  my  pursuits ; 

And  though  they  questioned  kindly,  I  grew  sore 

Under  the  repetition,  and  ashamed 

To  iterate  my  answer,  till  I  burned 

To  do  some  work,  so  lifted  into  fame, 

That  shame  should  be  to  him  whose  ignorance 

Compelled  "a  question. 

Simplest  foresters 

Have  learned  the  trick  of  woodland  broods,  that  fly 
In  radiant  divergence  from  the  flash 
Of  death  and  danger,  and,  when  all  is  still, 
Steal  back  to  where  their  fellows  bit  the  dust 
For  rendezvous.     And  thus  society 


168  KATHR1NA. 

Follows  the  brutal  instinct.     When  the  friends, 
Who  from  her  father's  ruin  fled  amain, 
Found  out  rny  wife,  and  learned  that  it  was  safe 
To  gather  back  to  the  old  feeding-ground, 
They  came.     Her  old  home  had  become  my  own 
And  they  were  all  delighted.     It  was  sweet 
To  have  her  back  again  ;  and  it  was  sad 
To  know  that  those  who  once  were  happy  there, 
Dispensing  happiness,  could  come  no  move. 

It  had  its  modicum  of  earnestness, — 
This  talk  of  theirs — and  she  received  it  all 
With  hearty  courtesy,  and  yielded  it 
The  unction  of  her  charity,  so  far 
That  it  was  smooth  and  redolent  to  her. 
The  difference — the  world-wide  difference — 
Between  my  wife  and  them  was  obvious  ; 
But  she  was  generous  through  nature's  gift 
I  fancied— could  not  well  be  otherwise ; 
Although  their  fawning  filled  me  with  disgust. 
Oh  !  fool  and  blind  :  not  to  perceive  the  Christ 
That  shone  and  spoke  in  her  ! 


KATHE1NA  169 

The  hour  approached— 

The  pre- determined  time — when  I  should  close 
My  study-door,  and  wrap  rny  kindling  brain 
Tn  the  poetic  dream  which,  day  by  day, 
Was  swiftly  gathering  consistence  there. 
The  quick,  creative  instinct  in  me  plumed 
Its  pinions  for  the  flight,  and  I  could  feel 
The  influx  of  fresh  power  ;  but  whence  it  caine, 
1  did  not  question  ;  though  it  fired  my  heart 
With  the  assurance  of  success. 

I  told 

My  dear  companion  of  my  hopeful  plans 
For  winning  fame,  and  making  for  myself 
A  lofty  place  ;  but  I  could  not  inspire 
Her  heart  with  my  ambition,  or  win  o'er 
Her  judgment  to  my  motive.     She  adhered 
To  her  old  theory,  and  gave  no  room 
To  any  motive  it  did  not  embrace. 
We  argued  much,  but  always  argued  wide, 
And  ended  where  we  started.     Postulates 
On  which  we  stood  in  perfect  harmony, 


170  KATHR1NA. 

Were  points  of  separation,  out  from  which 

We  struck  divergently,  till  sympathy, 

That  only  lives  by  rhythm  of  thoughts  and  hearts, 

Lay  dead  between  us. 


"  Man  loves  praise,"  I  said. 
"It  is  an  appetence  which  He  who  made 
The  human  soul,  made  to  be  satisfied. 
It  is  a  tree  He  planted.     If  it  grow 
On  that  which  feeds  it,  and  become  at  last 
Thrifty  and  fruitful,  it  is  still  His  own, 
With  usury.     And  if,  in  His  intent, 
This  passion  have  no  place  among  the  powers 
Of  active  life,  why  is  it  mighty  there 
From  youngest  childhood  ?    Pray  you  what  is  fame 
But  concrete  praise  ? — the  universal  voice 
Which  bears,  from  every  quarter  of  the  earth, 
Its  homage  to  a  name,  that  grows  thereby 
To  be  its  own  immortal  monument, 
Outlasting  ah1  the  marble  and  the  bronze 
Which  cunning  fingers,  since  the  world  began, 


KATHR1NA.  171 

Have  shaped  or  stamped  with  story  ?    What  is 

fame 

But  aggregate  of  praise  ?    And  if  it  be 
Legitimate  to  win,  for  sake  of  praise, 
The  praise  of  one,  why  not  of  multitudes  ?" 

"Ay,"  she    replied ;    "'tis  true    that    men   love 

praise ; 

And  it  is  true  that  He  who  made  the  soul 
Planted  therein  the  love  of  praise,  to  be 
A  motive  in  its  life — all  true  so  far  ; 
And  so  far  we  agree.     But  motives  all 
Have  their  appropriate  sphere  and  sway,  like  men 
Who  bear  them  in  their  breasts.     The  love   of. 

praise 

Fills  life  with  fine  amenities.     Not  all 
Who  live  have  pleasant  tempers,  and  not  all 
The  gift  of  gracious  manners,  or  the  love 
Of  nobler  motive,  higher  meed  than  praise. 
The  world  is  full  of  bears,  who  smooth  their  hair, 
And  glove  their  paws,  and  put  on  manly  airs, 
And  hold  our  honey  sacred,  and  our  lives 


173  KATHfflNA. 

Our  own,  because  they  hunger  for  our  praise. 
'Tis  a  fine  thing  for  bears — this  love  of  praise — 
And  those  who  deal  with  them  ;  and  a  good  thing 
For  children,  and  for  parents,  teachers — all 
Who  have  them  in  their  keeping.     It  may  hold 
A  little  mind  to  rectitude,  until 
It  grow,  and  grow  ashamed  to  yield  itself 
To  such  a  petty  motive.     Children  all 
Like  sugar,  and  it  may  admit  of  doiibt 
"Whether  our  praise  or  sugar  sweetens  more 
Their  petulant  sub-acids  ;  but  a  man 
Would  choke  in  swallowing  the  compliment 
Which  we  should  pay  him,  were  we  but  to  say 
• '  Go  to  !     Do  some  great  deed,  and  you  shall  have 
Your  pay  in  sugar  : — maple,  mind  you,  now, 
So  you  shall  do  it  featly.'  " 

"Very  good  !'' 

I  answered,  "  very  good,  indeed  !  if  we 
Engage  in  talk  for  sport  ;  but  argument 
On  themes  like  these  must  have  the  element 
Of  candor.     Highest  truth,  in  certain  lights, 


KATHR1NA.  173 

May  be  ridiculous,  and  yet  be  truth. 
"Women  are  angels  :  just  a  little  weak 
And  just  a  little  wicked,  it  may  be, 
Yet  still  the  sweetest  beings  in  the  world  ; 
But  when  one  stands  with  ayprehensive  gasp 
At  verge  of  sternutation,  or  leaps  off, 
Projecting  all  her  being  in  a  sneeze, 
Or  snores  with  lips  wide-parted,  or  essays 
The  'double-quick,'  we  turn  our  eyes  away 
In  sadness,  that  a  creature  so  divine 
'  Can  be  so  shockingly  ridiculous  : 
Yet  who  shah1  say  she's  not  an  angel  still  ? 
Now  you  present  to  me  the  meanest  face 
Of  a  most  noble  truth.     I  laugh  with  you 
Over  its  sorry  semblance  ;  but  the  truth 
Is  still  divine,  and  claims  our  reverence. 
The  great  King  Solomon — and  you  believe 
In  Solomon — has  said  that  a  good  name 
Is  more  to  be  desired  than  much  fine  gold. 
If  a  good  name  be  matter  of  desire 
Beyond  all  wealth — and  you  will  pardon  me 
For  holding  to  the  record — it  may  stand 


i?i  KATHR1NA. 

As  a  grand  motive  in  tlie  life  of  man, 
To  grand  endeavor.     I  have  yet  to  learn 
That  Solomon  addressed  his  words  to  bears, 
Or  little  children.     I  am  forced  to  think 
That  you  and  I,  and  all  who  read  his  words, 
Are  those  for  whom  he  wrote." 

Rejoining  she  ! 

"  A  good  may  be  the  subject  of  desire, 
And  not  be  motive  to  achievement.     Life, 
If  I  may  speak  the  riddle,  is  a  scheme 
Of  indirections.     My  own  happiness 
Is  something  to  desire  ;  and  yet,  I  know 
That  I  must  Avin  it  by  forgetting  it 
In  ministry  to  others.     If  I  make 
My  happiness  the  motive  of  my  work, 
I  spoil  it  by  the  taint  of  selfishness. 
Bnt  are  you  sure  that  you  do  not  presume 
Somewhat  too  much,  in  claiming  the  desire 
For  a  good  name  as  motive  of  your  life  ? 
Greatness,  not  goodness,  is  the  end  you  seek. 
If  I  mistake  you  not  ;  and  these  are  held, 


KATHR1NA.  175 

In  the  world's  thought,  as  two,  and  most  distinct. 

King  Solomon  was  wise,  but  wiser  He 

Who  said  to  those  that  loved  and  followed  him, 

•  Who  would  be  great  among  you,  let  him  serve. ' 

The  greatest  men — and  artists  should  be  such, 

For  they  are  God's  nobility  and  man's — 

Should  work  from  greatest  motives.     Selfishness 

Is  never  great,  and  moves  to  no  great  deeds. 

To  honor  God,  to  benefit  mankind, 

To  serve  with  lofty  gifts  the  lowly  needs 

Of  the  poor  race  for  which  the  God-man  died, 

And  do  it  all  for  love — oh  !  this  is  great ! 

And  he  who  does  this  will  achieve  a  name 

Not  only  great  but  good." 

"Not  in  this  world," 

I  answered  her.     "I  know  too  much  of  it. 
The  world  is  selfish  ;  and  it  never  gives 
Due  credit  to  a  motive  which  assumes 
To  be  above  its  own.     If  a  man  write, 
It  takes  for  granted  that  he  writes  for  fame, 
.And  judges  him  accordingly.     It  holds 


170  KATHRWA. 

Of  no  account  all  other  aims  and  ends  ; 

And  visits  with  contempt  the  man  who  bears 

A  mission  to  his  kind.     The  critic  pens 

That  twiddle  with  his  work,  or  play  with  it 

As  cats  with  mice,  are  not  remarkable 

For  gentle  instincts  ;  and  my  name  must  live 

By  pens  like  these.     I  choose  to  take  the  world 

Just  as  I  find  it,  and  I  pitch  my  tune 

To  the  world's  key,  that  it  may  sing  my  tune, 

And  sing  for  me.     Ay,  and  I  take  myself 

Just  as  I  find  myself.     I  do  not  love 

The  human  race  enough  to  work  for  it. 

Having  no  motive  of  philanthropy, 

I'll  make  pretence  to  none.     The  love  of  praise 

I  count  legitimate  and  laudable. 

'Tis  not  the  noblest  motive  in  the  Avorld, 

But  it  is  good  ;  and  it  has  won  more  fames 

Than  any  other.     Surely,  my  good  wife, 

You  would  not  shut  me  from  it,  and  deprive 

My  power  of  its  sole  impulse. " 

' '  No  ;  oh  !  no, 


KATHR1NA  177 

She  answered  quickly.     "I  am  only  sad 

Tliat  it  should  be  the  captain  of  your  host. 

All  creatures  of  the  brain  are  the  result 

Of  many  motives  and  of  many  powers. 

All  life  is  such,  indeed.     The  power  that  leads — • 

The  motive  dominant — this  stamps  the  work 

With  its  own  likeness.     Throughout  ah1  the  world 

Are  careful  souls,  with  careful  consciences, 

That  pierce  themselves  with  questionings  and  fears 

Because  that,  with  the  motives  which  are  good, 

And  which  alone  they  seek,  a  hundred  come 

They  do  not  seek,  and  aye  sophisticate 

Their  finest  action.     They  are  wrong  in  this  : 

Ah1  motives  bowing  to  one  leadership, 

And  aiding  its  emprise,  are  one  with  it — 

The  same  in  trend,  the  same  in  terminus. 

All  the  low  motives  that  obey  the  law, 

And  aid  the  work,  of  one  above  them  all, 

Do  holy  service,  and  fulfil  the  end 

For  which  they  were  designed.     The  love  of  praise 

Is  not  the  lowest  motive  which  can  move 

The  human  soul.     Nay,  it  may  do  good  work 


178  KATHE1NA. 

As  a  subordinate,  and  leave  no  soil 

On  whitest  fabric,  at  whose  selvage  shines 

The  Master's  broidered  signature.     Although 

You  write  for  fame,  think  not  you  will  escape 

The  press  of  other  motives.     You  love  me  ; 

You  love  your  child  ;  you  love  your  pleasant  home; 

You  love  the  memory  of  one  long  dead. 

These,  joined  with  all  those  qualities  of  heart 

Which  make  you  dear  to  me,  will  throng  around 

The  leader  you  appoint,  and  come  and  go 

Under  his  banner ;  and  the  work  of  God 

Will   thrive  through  these,  the  while  your  own 

goes  on. 

God  will  not  be  defrauded,  nor  yet  man  ; 
And  you,  who  like  the  Pharisees  make  prayer 
At  corners  of  the  streets,  for  praise  of  men, 
Will  have  reward  you  seek." 

"  Ay,  verily !" 

Responded  I  with  laughter.     "  Verily  ! 
Though  not  a  saint,  I'll  do  a  saintly  work 
For  my  own  profit,  and  in  spite  of  all 


KATHR1NA.  179 

The  selfibnness  that  moves  me.     Better,  this, 

Thau  I  suspected.     My  sweet  casuist — 

My  gentle,  learned,  lovely  casuist — 

I  thank  you  ;  and  I'll  pay  you  more  than  thanks. 

I'll  promise  that  when  these  fine  motives  come, 

And  volunteer  their  service,  they  shall  find 

Welcome  and  entertainment,  and  a  place 

Within  the  rank  and  file,  with  privilege 

Of  quick  promotion,  so  they  show  themselves 

Motives  of  mettle." 

This  the  type  of  tali: 

That  passed  between  us.     I  was  not  a  fool 
To  count  her  wisdom  worthless  ;  nor  a  God, 
To  work  regeneration  in  myself. 
That  something  which  I  longed  for,  to  fill  up 
The  measure  of  my  good,  was  human  praise  ; 
Yet  I  could  see  that  she  was  wholly  right, 
And  that  she  held  within,  herself  resource 
Of  satisfaction  better  than  my  own. 
But  I  was  quite  content — content  to  know 
T  trod  the  average  altitude  of  those 


180  KATHU1NA. 

Within  the  paths  of  art,  and  had  no  a  tins 
To  be  misconstrued  or  misunderstood 
By  Pride  and  Selfishness — that  these,  in  truth, 
Expected  of  me  what  I  had  to  give. 

Strange,  how  a  man  may  carry  in  his  heart, 

From  year  to  year — through  all  his  life,  indeed— 

A  truth,  or  a  conviction,  which  shall  be 

No  more  a  part  of  it,  and  no  more  worth 

Than  to  his  flask  the  cork  that  slips  within  ! 

Of  this  he  learns  by  sourness  of  his  wine, 

Or  muddle  of  its  color  ;  by  the  bits 

That  vex  his  lips  while  drinking  ;  but  he  feels 

No  impulse  in  his  hand  to  draw  it  forth, 

And  bid  it  crown  and  keep  the  draught  it  spoils. 

I  write  this,  here,  not  for  its  relevance 
To  this  one  passage  of  my  story,  but 
Because  there  slipped  into  my  consciousness 
Just  at  this  juncture,  and  would  not  depart, 
•  A  truth  I  carried  there  for  many  years, 
Each  minute  seeing,  feeling,  tasting  it, 


KATHR1NA.  181 

Yet  never  touching  it  with  an  attempt 
To  draw  it  forth,  and  put  it  to  its  place. 

One  evening,  when  our  usual  theme  was  up, 
I  asked  my  wife  in  playful  earnestness 
How  she  became  so  wise.     "  You  talk,"  I  said, 
*'  Like  one  who  has  survived  a  thonsand  years, 
And  drunk  the  wisdom  of  a  thousand  lives." 

"  Who  lacketh  wisdom,  let  him  ask  of  God, 
.Who  giveth  freely  and  upbraideth  not," 
Was  her  reply. 

"I  never  ask  of  God," 

I  said.     "  S£  while  you  take  at  second  hand 
His  breathings  to  the  artist,  I  will  take 
At  second  hand  the  wisdom  that  He  gives 
To  you,  His  teacher." 

"Do  you  never  pray  ?" 

"Never,"  I  answered  her.     "I  cannot  pray  : 
You  know  the  reason.     Never  since  the  day 


KATHR1NA. 

God  shut  his  heart  against  my  mother's  prayer 
Have  I  raised  one  petition,  or  been  moved 
To  reverence." 

Her  long,  dark  lashes  fell, 
And  from  her  eyes  there  dropped  two  precious 

tears 

That  bathed  her  folded  hands.     She  pitied  me, 
With  tenderness  beyond  the  reach  of  words. 
I  did  not  seek  her  pity.     I  was  proud, 
And  asked  her  if  she  blamed  me. 

"No,"  she  said  ; 

"I  have  no  right  to  blame  you,  and  no  wish. 
I  marvel  only  that  a  man  like  you 
Can  hold  so  long  the  errors  of  a  boy. 
I've  looked — with  how  much  longing,  words  of 

mine 

Can  never  tell — for  reason  to  restore 
That    priceless   thing  which    passion  stole    from 
'  you, 

And  looked  in  vain. " 


KATIIR1NA.  183 

Though  piqued  by  the  reproach 
Her  words  conveyed,  (unwittingly  I  knew,) 
I  Avished  to  learn  where,  in  her  theory 
Of  human  life,  my  case  had  found  a  place  ; 
So,  bidding  pride  aback,  I  questioned  her. 
"You  are  so  wise  in  other  things,"  I  said, 
"And  read  so  well  God's  dealings  with  His  own, 
Perhaps  you  can  explain  this  mystery 
That  clouds  my  life." 

"  I  know  that  God  is  good," 
She  answered,  ' '  and,  although  my  reason  fail 
To  explicate  the  mystery  that  wraps 
His  providence,  it  does  not  shake  my  faith. 
But  this  saddle  of  yours  has  seemed  so  plain, 
That  Reason  well  may  spare  the  staff  of  Faith 
To  climb  to  its  conclusions.     You  are  loved, 
My  husband  :  can  you  tell  your  wife  for  what  ?' 

"  Oh  !  modesty  !  my  dear  ;  hem  !  modesty  ! 
'  Spare  me  these  blushes  !     I  have  not  at  hand 
The  printed  catalogue  of«  qualities 


184  KATHR1NA. 

Which  give  you  inspiration,  and  decline 
The  personal  rehearsal." 

"  You  mistake," 

She  answered,  smiling.     "Not  for  modesty  ; 
And  as  for  blushes,  they're  not  patent  yet. 
But  frankly,  soberly,  I  ask  you  this  : 
Have  you  a  quality  of  heart  or  brain 
Which  makes  you  lovable,  and  in  my  eyes 
A  man  to  be  admired,  that  was  not  born 
Quick  in  your  blood  ?     Pray,  have  you  anything 
Which  you  did  not  inherit  ?    Who  to  me 
Furnished  my  husband  ?     By  what  happy  law 
Was  all  that  was  the  finest,  noblest,  best 
In  those  who  gave  you  life,  bestow&^n  you  ? 
You  have  your  father's  form,  your  father's  brain ; 
You  have  your  mother's  eyes,  your  mother's  heart 
Those  twain  produced  a  man  for  me  to  love, 
Out  of  themselves.     I  am  obliged  to  them 
For  the  most  precious  good  the  round  earth  holds, 
Transmitted  by  a  law  that  slew  them  both. 
It  was  not  sin,  or  shame,  for  them  to  die 


KATHR1NA.  185 

Just  as  they  died.     They  passed  with  -whiter  hands 
Up  to  The  Throne  than  he  who  wantonly 
Murders  a  sparrow.     When  your  mother  prayed, 
She  prayed  for  the  suspension  of  the  law 
By  which  from  Eve,  the  mother  of  the  race, 

CgJiad  received  the  grace  and  loveliness 
uch  made  her  precious  to  your  heart — the  law 
By  which  alone  she  could  convey  these  gifts 
To  others  of  her  blood.     Your  daughter's  face 
Is  beautiful,  her  soul  is  pure  and  sweet, 
By  largess  of  this  law.     Could  God  subvert, 
To  meet  her  Avish,  though  shaped  in  agony, 
The  law  which,  since  the  life  of  man  began 
In  life  of  Gji  has  kept  the  channel  clear 
For  His  o\«plood,  that  it  might  bless  the  last 
Of  all  the  generations  as  the  first  ? 
What  could  He  more  than  give  her  liberty — 
When  reason  lay  in  torture  or  in  wreck, 
And  life  was  death — to  part  with  stainless  hand 
The  tie  that  held  her  from  his  loving  breast  ?" 

If  God  himself  had  dropped  her  words  from  heaven. 


186  KATUR1NA. 

They  had  not  reached  with  surer  plummet-plunge 
The  depths  of  my  conviction.     I  was  dumb  ; 
I  opened  not  my  mouth  ;  but  left  her  side, 
And  sought  the  crowded  street.     I  felt  that  all 
Delusions,  subterfuges,  self-deceits, 
By  which  my  soul  had  shut  itself  from  God, 
Were  stripped  away,  and  that  no  barrier 
Was  interposed  between  us  which  was  not 
My  own  hand's  building.     Never,  nevermore, 
Could  I  hold  God  in  blame,  or  deem  myself 
A  guiltless,  injured-  creature.     I  could  see 
That  I  was  hard,  implacable,  unjust ; 
And  that  by  force  of  wilful  choice  I  held 
Myself  from  God  ;  for  no  impulsion  cjKie 
To  seek  His  face  and  favor.     Nay,  I  fefted 
And  fought  such  incidence,  as  enemy 
Of  all  my  plans. 

So  it  became  thenceforth 
A  problem  with  me  how  to  separate 
My  new  conviction  from  my  life — to  hold 
A  revolutionizing  truth  within, 


KATUR1XA  187 

And  hold  it  yet  so  loosely,  it  should  be 
Like  a  dumb  alien  in  a  mural  town — 
No  guest,  but  an  intruder,  who  might  bide, 
By  law  or  grace,  but  win  no  domicile, 
And  hold  no  power. 


When  I  returned,  that  night, 
My  course  wras  chosen,  with  such  sense  of- guilt 
I  blushed  before  the  calm,  inquiring  eyes 
That  met  me  at  my  threshold  ;  but  the  theme 
Was  dropped  just  there.     My  gentle  mentor  read 
The  secret  of  the  struggle  and  the  sin, 
And  left  me  to  myself. 


At  the  set  time, 
I  entered  on  my  task.     The  discipline 
Of  early  years  told  feebly  on  my  work, 
For  dissipation  and  disuse  of  power 
Had  brought  me  back  to  infancy  again. 
My  will  was  weak,  my  patience  was  at  fault, 
And  in  my  fretful  helplessness,  I  stormed 
And  sighed  by  turns  ;  yet  still  I  held  in  force 


188  KATHRLXA. 

Determination,  as  reserve  of  will ; 

And  when  I  flinched  or  faltered,  always  fell 

Back  upon  that,  and  saved  my  powers  from  rout 

Casting,  recasting,  till  I  found  the  germ 

Of  my  conception  putting  forth  its  whorls 

In  orderly  succession  round  the  stem 

Of  my  design,  that  straight  and  strong  shot  u 

Toward  inflorescence,  my  long  work  went  on, 

Till  I  was  filled  with  satisfying  joy. 

This  lasted  for  a  little  time,  and  then 

There  came  reaction.     I  grew  tired  of  it. 

My  verses  were  as  meaningless  and  stale 

As  doggrel  of  the  stalls.     I  marvelled  much 

That  they  could  ever  have  beguiled 

Into  self-gratulation,  or  done  augh 

But  overwhelm  me  with  contempt  for  them, 

And  the  dull  pen  that  wrote  them. 

I  had  hoped 

To  form  and  finish  my  projected  work 
Within,  and  by,  myself, — to  tease  no  ear 
With  fragmentary  snatches  of  my  song, 


KATHR1NA.  18U 

And  call  for  no  support  from  friendly  praise 
To  reinforce  my  courage  ;  but  the  stress 
Of  my  disgust  and  my  despair — tlie  need, 
Imperative  and  absolute,  to  brace  myself 
By  some  opinion  borrowed  for  tlie  nonce, 

/"And  bathe  my  spirit  in  the  sympathy 

V         S 

Of  SCUM'  strong  nature— mastered  \\\\  mtrnt, 

And  sent  me  for  resource  to  her  whose  heart 
Was  ever  open  to  my  call. 

She  sat 
Through  the  long  hour  in  which  I  read  to  her, 


Absorbed,  entranced,  as  one  who  sits  alone 

Within  a  dip^cathedral,  and  resigns 

His  spirit  %kJR3  organ-theme,  that  mounts, 

Or  sinks  in  tremulous  pauses,  or  sweeps  out 

On  mighty  pinions  and  with  trumpet  voice 

Through  labyrinthine  harmonies,  at  last 

Emerging,  and  through  silver  clouds  of  sound 

lieceding  and  receding,  till  it  melts 

Into  the  empyrean  and  is  lost. 

It  was  not  needful  she  should  say  a  word  ; 


190  KATEE1NA. 

For  in  her  glowing  eyes  arid  kindling  face, 

I  caught  the  full  assurance  that  ray  heart 

Had  yearned  for  ;  but  she  spoke  her  hearty  praise; 

And  when  I  aslced  her  for  her  criticism, 

Bestowed  it  with  such  modest  deference 

£ 
To  my  opinion,  as  to  spare  my  pride  ; 

Yet,  with  such  subtle  sense  of  harmony, 
And  insight  of  proportion,  that  I  saw 
That  I  should  find  no  critic  in  the  world 
More  competent  or  more  severe.     I  said, 
Gulping  my  pride  :  "  Better  this  ordeal 
In  friendly  hands,  before  the  time  of  types, 
Than  afterward,  in  hands  of  enemies." 


I 


So,  from  that  reading,  it  was  understood 
Between  us  that,  whenever  I  essayed 
Revising  and  retouching,  I  should  know 
Her  intimate  impressions,  and  receive 
Her  frank  suggestions.     In  this  oversight 
And  constant  interest  of  one  whose  mind 
Was  excellent  and  pure,  and  raised  above 


KATHR1NA  101 

All  motive  to  beguile  me,  I  secured 
New  inspiration. 

Weeks  and  months  passed  by 
With  gradient  hopefulness,  and  strength  renewed 

-At  each  rralwal  of  the  confidence 

I 
I  had  reposed  in  her  ;  till  I  perceived 

That  I  was  living  on  her  praise — that  she 
Held  God's  place  in  me  and  the  multitude's. 
And  now,  as  I  look  back  upon  these  days 
Of  difficult  endeavor,  I  confess 
That  had  she  not  been  with  me,  I  had  failed — 
Ay,  foundered  in  mid-sea — my  hope,  my  life, 
The  spoil  oLdeep  oblivion. 


At  last 

The  work  was  done — the  labored  volume  closed. 
"I  cannot  make  it  better,"  I  exclaimed. 
"  I  can  -write  better,  but,  before  I  write, 
I  must  have  recognition  in  the  voice 
Of  public  praise.     A  good  paymaster  pays 
When  work  is  finished.     Let  him  pay  for  this, 


193  KATHR1NA. 

And  I  will  work  again  ;  but,  till  he  pay, 
My  leisure  is  my  own,  and  I  will  wait." 

"  And  if  lie  grudge  your  wage  ?"  suggestajL  she 
To  whom  I  spoke. 


'  I  shall  be  finished  too. 


Came  then  the  proofs  and  latest  polishing 
Of  words  and  phrases — work  I  shared  with  her 
To  whom  I  owed  so  much  ;  and  then  the  fear, 
The  deathly  heart-fall,  and  the  haunting  dread 
That  go  before  exposure  to  the  world 
Of  inmost  life,  and  utmost  reach  of 
Toward  revelation  ; — then  the  shrin 
When  morbid  love  of  self  awaits  in  pain 
The  verdict  it  has  courted. 

But  at  last 

The  book  was  out.     My  daughter's  hand  in  mine— 
Her  careless  feet,  that  thrilled  with  springing  life, 


KATHR1NA.  193 

Skipping  tlie  pavement — I  walked  down  Broadway, 
To  ease  the  restlessness  and  cool  the  heat 
That  vexed  my_idle  waiting.     As  we  passed 
Indow,  filled  with  costly  books, 
Id  exclaimed  :  "Oh  father  !    See  ! 


Straight  all  the  bravery 

Within  my  veins,  at  qne  wild  heart-tlmmp,  dropped, 
And  I  was  limp  as  .water  ;  but  I  paused, 
And  read  the  poster.     Iksjnnounced  my  book 
In  characters  of  flame,  with  adjectives 
!My  daring  publisher  had  filched,  I  think, 
From  an^Bkcircus-broadside. 


"Well!"  thought  I— 
Biting  my  lip — "  I'm  in  the  market  now  ! 
How  much — 0  !  rattling,  roaring  multitude  ! 
O  !  selfish,  cheating,  lying  multitude  ! 
O  !  hawking,  trading,  delving  multitude  ! — 
How  much  for  one  man's  hope,  for  one  man's  life  : 
What  for  his  toil  and  pain  ? — his  heart's  red  blood  ? 


194 


EATHB1NA. 


What  for  his  brains  and  breeding  ?     Oh  how  much 
For  one  who  craves  your  praises  Avith  your  pence, 
And  dies  Avith  your  denial  ?" 

I  Ave 

And  bought  my  book — not  doubting  I  Avas 
To  give  response  to  my  apostrophe. 
The  smug  old  clerk,  Avho  found  his  length 

Convenient  as  a  pencil-rack,  and  thus 

•-  m 
Made  nature's  wrath  proclaim  "me  praise  of  trade, 

Wrapped    my    dear   bajjiling   well  ;    and,    as   he 

u 
dropped  /  ^S 

My  dollar  in  his  till,  smiled  languidly  ^ 

Upon  my  little  girl,  and  said  to  me — j 

To  dueer  me  in  my  purchase— that 

Was  thought  to  be  a  deuced  clever  thing. 

He  never  read  such  books  :  he  had  no  time. 

Indeed,  he  had  no  interest  in  them. 

Still,  other  people  had,  and  it  Avas  Avell, 

For  it  helped  trade  along. 


It  Avas  for  him — 


KATHR1NA.  195 

A  vulgar  fraction  of  the  integral 

We  speak  of  as  "tlie  people,"  and  "the  world  " — 

I  had  been  writing  !     Had  he  read  my  book, 

And  given  it  his  praise,  I  should  have  been 

Delighted,  though  I  knew  that  his  applause 

Was  worthless  as  his  brooch.     I  was  a  fool 

Undoubtedly  ;  yet  I  could  understand, 

Better  tliau  e'er  before,  how  separate 

The  artist  is  from  such  a  soul  as  his — 

Wliat  need  of  teachers  and  interpreters 

To  crumble  in  his  pewter  porringer 

The  rounded  loaf,  whose  crust  was  adamant 

To  his  weak  fingers. 

S 

The  next  morning's  press 

Was  purchased  early,  though  I  read  in  vain 
To  find  my  reputation.     But  at  night, 
My  door-bell  rang  ;  and  I  received  a  note 
From  one  who  edited  uu  evening  print, 
(I  had  dined  with  him  at  my  publisher's,) 
Inclosing  a  review,  aucT venturing 
The  hope  that  I  should  like  it. 


190  KATHR1NA. 

Cunning  man ! 

He  knew  the  tricks  of  trade,  and  was  adroit. 
My  poem  was  "a  revelation."    I  had  "burst 
Like  thunder  from  a  calm  and  cloudless  sky. " 
Well,  not  to  quote  his  language,  this  thjp  drift? 
A  man  of  fortune,  living  at  his  ease, 
But  fond  of  manly  effort,  had  sat  down, 
And  turned  his  culture  to  supreme  account ; 
And  he — the  editor — took  on  himself 
To  thank  him  on  the  world's  behalf.     Withal, 
The  poet  had  betrayed  the  continence 
Of  geniiis.     He  had  held,  undoubtedly, 
The  consciousness  of  power  from  early  youth  ; 
But,  yielding  never  to  the  itch  for  print, 
Had  nursed  and  chastened  and  developed  il, 
Until  his  hand  was  strong,  and  swept  liis  lyre 
With  magic  of  a  master. 


Pollowed  here 

Sage  comments  on  the  rathe  and  puny  brood 
Of  poet-sucklings,  who  had  rushed  to  type 


KATHR1NA  197 

Before  their   time — pale   stems  that    spun    their 

flowers 

In  the  first  sunshine,  but,  when  Autumn  came, 
Were  fruitless.     It  was  pleasant,  too,  to-  see, 
In  such  an  age  of  sentimental  cant, 
One  man  Avho  dared  to  hold  up  to  the  world 
A  creature  of  his  brain,  and  say  :  "Look  you  ! 
This  is  rny  thought ;  and  it  shall  stand  alone. 
It  has  no  moral,  bears  no  ministry 
Of  pious  teaching,  and  makes  no  appeal 
To  sufferance  or  suffrage  of  the  muffs 
"Who,  in  the  pulpit  or  the  press,  prepare 
The  nation's  pap.     The  fiery-footed  barb 
That  pounds  the  pampas,  and  the  lily-bells 
That  hang  aboyefjhe  brooks,  present  the  world 
With  no  apology  for  being  there, 
And  no  attempt  to  justify  themselves 

In  uselessness.     It  is  enough  for  God 

« 
That  they  are  beautiful,  and  hold  His  thought 

In  fine  embodiment ;  and  it  shall  be 
Enough  for  me  that,  in  this  book  of  mine, 
I  have  created  somewhat  that  is  strong 


198  KATH1UNA. 

And  beautiful,  which,  if  it  profit, — well : 
If  not,  'tis  no  less  strong  and  beautiful, 
And  holds  its  being  by  no  feebler  right." 

Ay,  it  was  glorious  to  find  one  man 
Who  piled  no  packs  upon  his  Pegasus, 
Nor  chained  him  to  a  rag-cart,  loaded  down 
With  moral  frippery,  and  strings  of  bells 
To  call  the  people  to  their  windows. 

Then 

There  followed  extracts,  with  a  change  of  type 
To  mark  the  places  where  the  editor 
Had  caught  a  fancy  hiding,  which  he  feared 
Might  slip  detection  under  slower  eyes 
Than  those  he  carried  ;  or  to  emphasize 
Felicities  of  diction  that  were  stiff 

In  Roman  verticals,  but  grew  divine 

» 
At  the  Italic  angle  ;  then  apology, 

Profoundly  humble,  to  his  patrons  all 
For  quoting  at  such  length,  and  one  to  me 
For  quoting  anything,  and  deep  regrets, 


KATHE1NA.  199 

In  quite  a  general  way,  that  lack  of  space 

Forbade  tlie  reproduction  of  the  "book 

From  title-page  to  tail-piece,  winding  up 

With  counsel  to  all  lovers  of  pure  art, 

Patrons  of  genius,  all  Americans, 

All  friends  of  cis- Atlantic  literature, 

To  buy  the  book,  and  read  it  for  themselves. 

I  drank  the  whole,  at  one  long,  luscious  draught, 
Tipping  the  tankard  high,  that  I  might  see 
,  My  features  at  the  bottom,  and  regale 
My  pride,  after  niy  palate.     Then  I  tossed 
The  paper  to  my  wife,  and  bade  her  read. 
I  watched  her  while  she  read,  but  failed  to  find 
The  sympathy  of  pleasure  in  her  face 
I  had  expected.     Finishing  at  last, 
She  raised  her  eyes,  and,  fixing  them  on  me, 
Said  thoughtfully  :  "You  like  this,  I  suspect." 

"  Well,  granted !  "  I  responded,  "  since  it  seems." 
To  be  tlie  first  instalment  of  the  wage 
Wliicli  yon  suggested  might  come  grudgingly. 


200  RATHE1NA. 

Ay,  it  is  sweet  to  me.     I  know  it  fails 
In  nice  discrimination, — that  it  slurs 
Defects  which  1  perceive  as  well  as  you  ; 
But  it  is  kind,  and  places  in  best  light 
Such  excellences  as  we  both  may  find — 
May  claim,  indeed." 

"  And  yet,  it  is  a  lie, 
Or  what  the  editor  would  call  '  a  puff, ' 
From  first  to  last.     The  'continence,'  niy  dear, 
'  Of  genius  !'     What  of  that  ?     And  what  about 
The  'manly  effort,'  for  whose  exercise 
He  thanked  you  on  the  world's  behalf  ?     And  BO 
Your  nursing,  chastening  and  developing 
Of  power  ! — Pray  what  of  these  ?" 

A 

"  Oh  !  wife  !"  I  said  ; 
"Don't  spoil  it  all !     Be  pitiful,  my  love  ! 
I  am  a  baby — granted  :  so  I  need 
The  touch  of  tender  hands,  and  something  sweet 
To  keep  me  happy." 


EATHE1NA.  201 

' '  Babies  take  a  batli, 

Sometimes,  from  Avhich  the  hand  of  warmest  love 
Filches  the  chill,  and  you  must  have  one  dash," 
She  answered  me,  "to  close  your  complement. 
The  weakest  spot  in  all  your  book,  he  found 
With  a  quick  instinct ;  and  on  that  he  spent 
His  sharpest  force  and  finest  rhetoric, 
Shoring  and  bracing  it  on  every  side 
With  bold  assumptions  and  affirmatives, 
To  blind  the  eyes  of  novices,  and  scare 
With  fierce  forestahneut  all  the  critic-quills 
''Now  bristling  for  their  chance.     He  saw  at  once 
Your  poem  had  no  mission,  save,  perhaps, 
The  tickle  of  the  taste,  and  that  it  bore 
Upon  its  glowing  gold  small  food  for  life. 
He  saw  just  there  the  point  to  be  attacked  ; 
And   there  threw  up  his  earth-works,  and  spread 

out 

His  thorny  abatis.        Ay,  he  was   kind 
Undoubtedly,  and  very  cunning,  too  ; 
For  well  he  knew  that  there  are  earnest  souls 
In  the  broad  world,  who  claim  that  highest  art 


203  KATHE1NA. 

Is  highest  ministry  to  human  need  ; 
And  that  the  artist  has  no  Christian  light 
To  prostitute  his  art  to  selfish  ends, 
Or  make  it  vehicle  alone  of  plums 
For  the  world's  pudding." 

"  These  will  speak  in  time," 
Responded  I ;  "but  they  have  not  the  ear 
Of  the  broad  world,  I  think.     The  Christian  right 
Of  which  you  speak  is  hardly  recognized 
Among  the  multitude,  or  by  the  guild 
In  which  I  claim  a  place.     The  sectaries 
Who  furnish  folios,  quartos,  magazines, 
To  the  religious  few,  are  limited. 
In  influence  ;  and  these,  my  wife,  are  all 
I  have  to  fear  ; — nay,  could  I  but  arouse 
Their  bitter  enmity,  I  might  receive 
Such  superflux  of  praise  and  patronage 
As  would  o'erwhelm  my  sweetly  Christian  wife 
"With  shame  and  misery.     But  we  shall  see ; 
And,  in  the  meantime,  let  us  be  content 
Thai,  if  one  man  shall  praise  me  overmuch, 


KATHR1NA.  203 

Ten,  at  tlie  least,  will  fail  to  render  me 
Befitting  justice." 

As  the  days  went  on, 
Reviews  and  notices  came  pouring  in. 
I  was  notorious,  at  least ;  and  fame, 
I  whispered  comfortably  to  myself, 
Is  only  notoriety  turned  gray, 
With  less  of  fire,  if  more  of  steadiness. 
The  adverse  verdicts  were  not  numerous  ; 
And  these  were  rendered,  as  I  fancied  then, 
By  sanctimonious  fools  who  deemed  profane 
All  verse  outside  their  thumb-worn  hymnodies. 
My  book  received  the  rattling  fusilade 
Of  all  the  dailies  :  then  the  artillery 
Of  the  liebdomadals,  whose  noisy  shells, 
Though  timed  by  fuse  to  burst  on  Saturday 
Exploded  at  the  middle  of  the  week  ; 
And  last,  a  hundred-pounder  quarterly 
Gave  it  a  single  missive  from  its  mask 
Of  far  and  dark  impersonality. 
The  smoke  cleared  up,  and  still  my  colors  flew, 


204  KATHE1NA. 

And  still  my  book  stood  proudly  in  the  sun, 
Nor  breached  nor  battered. 

I  had  won  a  place  ; 

That  I  was  sure  of.     All  had  said  of  me 
That  I  was  "  brilliant  :"  was  not  that  enough  ? 
The  petty  pesterers,  with  card  and  stamp, 
Who  hunt  for  autographs,  were  after  me, 
In  packages  by  post ;  and  idle  men 
Held  me  at  corners  by  the  button-hole, 
And  introduced  me  to  their  friends.     I  dined 
With  meek-eyed  men,  whose  literary  wives 
Were  dying  all  to  know  me,  as  they  said  ; 
And  the  lyceums,  quick  at  scent  and  sight — 
Watching  the  jungles  for  a  lion — all 
Courted  the  delectation  of  my  roar 
Upon  their  platforms,  pledging  to  my  hand 
(With  city  reference  to  stanchest  names,) 
Such  honoraria  as  would  have  been 
The  lion's  share  of  profits.     These  were  straws ; 
But  they  had  surer  fingers  for  tiie  wind 
Thau  withes  or  weathercocks. 


KATHE1NA.  205 

The  book  sold  well, 

My  publisher  (who  published  at  my  risk,) 
And  first  put  on  the  airs  of  one  who  stooped 
To  grant  a  favor,  brimmed  and  overflowed 
With  courtesy  ;  and  ere  a  year  was  gone, 
Became  importunate  for  something  more. 
This  was  his  plea  :  I  owed  it  to  myself 
To  write  again.     The  time  to  make  one's  hay 
Is  when  the  sun  shines  :  time  to  write  one's  books 
Is  when  the  public  humor  turns  to  them. 
.The  public  would  forget  me  in  a  year, 
And  seek  another  idol ;  or,  meanwhile, 
Another  writer  might  usurp  my  throne, 
And  I  be  hooted  from  my  own  domain 
As  a  pretender.     Then  the  market's  maw 
Was  greedy  for  my  poems.     Just  how  long 
The  appetite  would  last,  he  could  not  tell, 
For  appetite  is  subject  of  caprice, 
And  never  lasts  too  long. 
• 

The  man  was  wise, 
I  plainly  saw,  and  gave  me  the  results 


203  EATIIR1NA. 

Of  observation  and  experience. 

I  took  his  hint,  accepting  with  a  pang 

The    truths    that    came    with    it ;    for    instance, 

these  : — 

That  he  who  speaks  for  praise  of  those  who  live, 
Must  keep  himself  before  his  audience, 
Nor  look  for  "  bravas,"  cheers,  and  cries  of  "hear!" 
And  clap  of  hands  and  stamp  of  feet,  except 
With  fresh  occasion  ;  that*  applause  of  crowds, 
Though  fierce,  runs  never  to  the  chronic  stage  ; 
That  good  paymasters,  having  paid  for  work 
The  doer's  price,  expect  receipt  in  full 
At  even  date  ;  and  that  if  I  would  keep 
My  place,  as  grand  purveyor  to  the  greed 
For  novelties  of  literary  art, 
My  viands  must  be  sapid,  and  abound 
With  change,  to  wake  or  whet  the  appetite 
I  sought  to  feed. 

I  say  I  took  his  hint, 
Bestowed  in  selfishness,  without  a  doubt, 
Though  in  my  interest.     For  ten  long  years 


A'ATHRINA.  207 

It  was  the  basis  of  iny  policy. 
I  poured  my  poems  with  redundancy 
Upon  the  world,  and  won  redundant  meed. 
If  I  gave  much,  the  world  was  generous, 
Paying  me  more  than  justice  ;  but,  at  last, 
Tired  and  disgusted,  I  laid  down  my  pen. 
I  knew  my  work  would  not  outlast  my  life, 
That  the  enchantments  which  had  wreathed  them 
selves 

Around  my  name  were  withering  away, 
With  every  breath  of  fragrance  they  exhaled  ; 
And  that,  too  soon,  the  active  brain  and  hand 
Whose  skill  had  conjured  them,  would  faint  aud 

fail 

Under  the  press  of  weariness  and  years. 
My  reputation  piqued  me.     None  believed 
That  it  was  in  me  to  write  otherwise 
Than  I  had  written.     All  the  world  had  laughed, 
Or  shaken  its  wise  head,  had  I  essayed 
A  work  beyond  the  round  of  brilliancies 
In  which  my  pen  had  revelled,  and  for  which 
It  gave  such  princely  guerdon.     If  I  looked, 


208  KATHR1NA. 

Or  came  to  look,  with  measureless  contempt 
Oil  tliose  who  gave  with  such  munificence 
The  boon  I  sought,  I  had  provoking  cause 
I  fooled  them  all  with  patent  worthles»^«s, 
And  they  insisted  I  should  fool  them  stilL 
The  wisdom  of  a  whole  decade  had  failed 
To  teach  them  that  the  thing  my  hand  had  done 
Was  not  worth  doing. 

More  and  worse  than  this : 
I  found  my  character  and  self-respect 
Eroded  by  the  canker  of  conceit. 
Poisoned  by  jealousy,  and  made  the  prey 
Of  meanest  passions.     Harlequins  in  mask, 
Who  live  upon  the  laughter  of  the  throng 
That  crowds  their  reeking  amphitheatres  ; 
Light-footed  dancing-girls,  who  sell  their  grace 
To  gaping  lechers  of  the  pit,  to  win 
That  which jehall  feed  their  shameless  vanity  ; 
The  mimics  of  the  buskin — baser  still, 
The  mimics  of  the  negro — minstrel-bands, 
With  capital  of  corks  and  castanets 


KATER1N-A.  209 

And  threadbare  jests — Ah  !  who  and  what  was  I 
But  brother  of  all  these — in  higher  walk, 
Bat  brother  in  the  motive  of  my  life, 
In  jealousy,  in  recompense  for  toil, 
And,  last,  in  destiny  ? 

My  wife  had  caught 

Stray  silver  in  her  hair  in  these  long  years  ; 
And  the  sweet  maiden  springing  from  our  lives 
Had  grown  to  womanhood.     In  my  pursuits, 
Which  drank  my  time  and  my  vitality, 
I  had  neglected  them.     I  worked  at  home, 
But  lived  in  other  scenes,  for  other  lives, 
Or,  rather,  for  my  OAvn  ;  and  though  my  pride 
Shrank  from  the  deed,  I  had  the  tardy  grace 
To  call  them  to  me,  and  confess  my  shame, 
And  beg  for  their  forgiveness. 

Once  again— 

All  explanations  passed — I  sat  beside 
My  faithful  wife,  and  canvassed  as  of  old 
New  plans  of  life.     I  found  her  still  the  same 


210  KATHR1NA. 

In  purpose  and  in  magnanimity  ; 
For  she  dealt  no  upbraidings  and  no  blame  ; 
Cast  in  my  teeth  no  old-time  prophecies 
Of  failure  ;  felt  no  triumph  which  rejoiced 
To  mock  me  with  the  words,  ' '  I  told  you  so. " 
Calmly  she  sat,  and  tried,  with  gentlest  speech, 
To  heal  the  bruises  of  my  fall ;  to  wake 
A  better  feeling  in  me  toward  the  world, 
And  soothe  my  morbid  self-contempt. 


The  world, 

She  said,  is  apt  to  take  a  public  man 
At  his  own  estimate,  and  yield  him  place 
According  to  his  choice.     I  had  essayed 
To  please  the  world,  and  gather  in  its  praise  ; 
And,  certainly,  the  world  was  pleased  with  me, 
And  had  not  stinted  me  in  its  return 
Of  plauditory  payment.     As  the  world 
Had  taken  me  according  to  my  rate, 
And  filled  niy  wish,  it  had  a  valid  claim 
On  my  good  nature. 


KATHH1NA.  211 

Then,  beyond'  all  this, 

The  world  was  not  a  fool.     Those  books  of  mine, 
That  I  had  come  to  look  upon  as  trash, 
Were  not  all  trash.     My  motive  had  been  poor, 
And  that  had  vitiated  them  for  me ; 
But  there  was  much  in  them  that  yielded  strength 
To  struggling  souls,  and,  to  the  wounded,  balm. 
Indeed,  she  had  been  helped  by  them,  herself. 
They  were,  all  pure  ;  they  made  no  foul  appeal 
To  baseness  and  brutality  ;  they  had 
"  An  element  of  gentle  chivalry, 
Such  as  must  have  a  place  in  any  man 
Shrinking  with  sensitiveness,  like  myself, 
From  a  fine  reputation,  scorning  it 
For  motive  which  had  won  it. 

Words  like  these, 

From  lips  like  hers,  were  needed  medicine. 
They  clarified  my  weak  and  jaundiced  sight, 
And  helped  to  juster  vision  of  the  world, 
And  of  myself.     But  there  was  no  return 
Of  the  old  greed ;  and  fame,  which  I  had  learned 


212  EATHR1NA. 

To  be  an  entity  quite  different 
Prom  niy  conceit  of  it  in  other  days, 
Was  something  much  too  far  and  nebulous 
To  be  my  star  of  life. 

"You  have  some  plan  ?"- 
Statement  and  query  in  same  words,  which  fell 
From  lips  that  sought  to  rehabilitate 
My  will  and  self-respect. 

•'I  have,"  I  said. 

"Else  you  were  dead,"  responded  she.     "To  live, 
Men  must  have  plans.     When  these  die  out  of  men 
They  crumble  into  chaos,  or  relapse 
Into  inanity.     "Will  you  reveal 
These  plans  of  yours  to  me  ?" 

"Ay,  if  lean," 

I  answered  her  ;  but  first  I  must  reveal 
The  base  011  which  I  build  them.     I  have  tried 
To  find  the  occasion  of  my  discontent, 


KATHRINA.  213 

And  found  it,  as  I  think,  just  here :  In  quest 
Of  popularity,  I  have  become 
Untrue  both  to  myself  and  to  my  art. 
I  have  not  dared  to  speak  the  royal  truth 
For  fear  of  censure  :  I  have  been  a  slave 
To  men's  opinions.     What  is  best  in  me 
Has  been  debauched  by  the  pursuit  of  praise, 
As  life's  best  prize.     Conviction,  sentiment, 
All  love  and  hate,  all  sense  of  right  and  wrong, 
I  have  held  in  abeyance,  or  compelled 
To  work  in  menial  subservience 
1  To  my  grand  purpose.     If  my  sentiment 
Or  my  conviction  were  but  popular, 
It  flowed  in  hearty  numbers  :  otherwise, 
It  slept  in  silence. 

"Now  as  to  my  art : 
I  find  that  it  has  suffered  like  myself, 
And  suffered  from  same  cause.     My  verse  has  been 
Shaped  evermore  to  meet  the  people's  thought. 
That  Avhich  was  highest,  grandest  in  my  art. 
I  have  not  reached,  and  have  not  tried  to  reach. 


214  KATHRINA. 

I  have  but  touched  the  surfaces  of  things 
That  meet  the  common  vision  ;  and  my  art 
Has  only  aimed  to  clothe  them  gracefully 
With  fancy's  gaudy  fabrics,  or  portray 
Their  patent  beauties  and  deformities. 
Above  the  people  in  my  gift  and  art, 
Both  gift  and  art  have  had  a,  downward  trend 
And  both  are  prostitute. 

"Discarding  praise 
As  motive  of  my  labor,  I  confess 
My  sins  against  my  art,  and  so,  henceforth, 
As  to  my  goddess,  give  myself  to  her. 
The  chivalry  which  you  are  pleased  to  note 
In  me  and  works  of  mine,  turns  loyally 
To  her  and  to  her  service.     Nevermore 
Shall  pen  of  mine  demean  itself  by  work 
That  serves  not  first,  and  with  supreme  intent, 
Tho  art  whose  slave  it  is." 

"I  understand, 
I  think,  the  basis  of  your  plan,"  she  said  ; 


KATHRINA.  215 

"  And  e'en  the  plan  itself.     You  now  propose 
To  write  without  remotest  reference 
To  the  world's  wishes,  prejudices,  needs, 
Or  e'en  the  world's  opinions, — quite  content 
If  the  world  find  aught  in  you  to  applaud  ; 
Quite  as  content  if  it  condemn.     With  full 
Expression  of  yourself,  in  finest  terms 
And  noblest  forms  of  art,  so  far  as  God 
Has  made  you  masterful,  you  give  yourself 
Up  to  yourself  and  to  your  art.     Is  this 
Fail-  statement  of  your  purpose  ?" 

"Not  unfair," 
I  answered.     "  Tell  me  what  you  think  of  it."    • 


"Suppose,"  she  said,  "  that  all  the  artist-souls 

That  God  has  made  since  time  and  art  began 

Had  acted  on  your  theory  ;  suppose 

In  architecture,  picture,  poetry, 

Naught  had  found  utterance  but  works  that  sprang 

To  satisfy  the  worker,  and  reveal 


216  KATHR1NA. 

That  bundle  of  ideas  which,  to  him, 

Is  instituted  art ;  but  which,  in  truth, 

Is  figment  of  his  fancy,  or  his  thought,  — 

His  creature,  made  his  God — say  where  were  all 

The  temples,  palaces  and  homes  of.men  ; 

The  galleries  that  blaze  with  history, 

Or  bloom  with  landscape,  or  look  down 

With  smile  of  changeless  love  or  loveliness 

Into  the  hearts  of  men  ?    And  where  were  all 

The  poems  that  give  measure  to  their  praise 

Voice  to  their  aspirations,  forms  of  light 

To  homely  facts  and  features  of  their  life, 

Enveloping  this  plain,  prosaic  world 

In  an  ideal  atmosphere,  in  which 

Fail1  angels  come  and  go  ?    All  gifts  of  men 

Were  made  for  use,  and  made  for  highest  use. 

If  highest  use  be  service  of  one's  self, 

And  highest  standard,  one's  embodiment 

Of  dogmas,  theories  and  thoughts  of  art, 

As  art's  identity,  then  are  you  right ; 

But  if  a  higher  use  of  gift  and  art 

Be  service  of  mankind,  and  higher  rulo 


KATHRINA.  217 

God's  regal  truth,  revealed  in  words  or  worlds, 
And  verified  by  life,  then  are  you  wrong." 

"But  art  ?" — responded  I — "you  do  not  mean 
That  art  is  nothing  but  a  thing  of  thought, 
Or,  less  than  that,  of  fancy  ?     Nay,  I  claim 
That  it  is  somewhat — a  grand  entity — 
An  organism  of  lofty  principles, 
Informed  with  subtlest  life,  and  clothed  upon 
With  usage  and  tradition  of  the  men 
Who,  working  in  those  sunny  provinces 
Where  it  holds  eminent  domain,  have  brought 
To  build  its  temple  and  adorn  its  walls 
The  usufruct  of  countless  lives.     So  fai 
ls  art  from  being  creature  of  man's  thought 
That  it  is  subject  of  his  knowledge — stands 
In  mighty  mystery,  and  challenges 
The  study  of  the  world  ;  rules  noblest  minds 
Like  law  or  like  religion  :  is  a  power 
To  which  the  proudest  artist-spirits  bow 
With  humblest  homage.     Is  astronomy 
The  creature  of  man's  thought  ?    Is  chemistry  ? 


218  KATHU1NA. 

Yet  these  liold  not,  in  tins  our  universe, 
A  form  more  definite,  nor  yet  a  place 
In  human  knowledge  more  beyond  dispute. 
Than  art  itself.     To  this  embodiment 
Of  theory — of  dogmas,  if  you  will — 
This  body  aggregate  of  truth  revealed 
In  growing  light  of  ages  to  the  eyes 
Touched  to  perception,  I  devote  my  life." 

"Nay,  you're  too  fast,"  she  said  :  "let  alchemy 

And  old  astrology  present  your  thought. 

These  were  somewhat ;  these  were  grand  entities  ; 

But  they  went  out  like  candles  in  thin  air 

When  knowledge  came.     The  sciences  are  things 

Of  law,  of  force,  relations,  measurements, 

Affinities  and  combinations,  all 

The  definite,  demonstrable  effects 

Of  first  and  second  causes.     Between  these 

And  men's  opinions,  braced  by  usages, 

The  space  is  wide.     The  thing  which  you  call  art, 

Is  anything  but  definite  in  form, 

Or  fixed  in  law.     It  has  as  many  shapes 


KATHR1NA.  219 

As  worshipers.     The  world  has  many  books, 
Written  by  earnest  rueii,  about  this  art  ; 
But  having  read  them,  '»ve  are  no  more  wise 
Than  he  whose  observation  of  the  sun 
Is  taken  by  kaleidoscope.     The  more 
He  sees  in  it,  the  more  he  is  confused. 
The  sun  works,  doubtless,  many  fine  effects 
With  what  he  sees,  but  he  sees  not  the  sun." 

"But  art  is  art,"  I  said.     "You'd  cheat  my  sense, 
And  mock  my  reason  too.     Ay,  art  is  art. 
Things  must  have  being  that  have  history." 

Then  she  :  "Yes,  politics  has  history, 
And  therefore  has  a  being, — has,  in  truth, 
Just  such  a  being  as  I  grant  to  art — 
A  being  of  opinions.     Every  state 
Has  origin  and  ends  of  government 
Peculiarly  its  own,  and  so,  from  these, 
Constructs  its  theory  of  politics. 
And  holds  this  theory  against  the  world  ; 
And  holds  it  well.     There  is  no  fixedness 


220  KATHRINA. 

Or  form  of  politics  for  all  mankind  ; 

And  there  is  none  of  art.     Each  artist-soul 

Is  its  own  law ;  and  he  who  dares  to  bring 

From  work  of  other  man,  to  lay  on  yours, 

His  square  and  compasses — declaring  him  - 

The  pattern  man — and  tells,  by  him,  you  lack 

Just  so  much  here,  or  wander  so  much  there, 

Thereby  confesses  just  how  much  lie  lacks 

Of  wisdom  and  plain  sense.     For  eveiy  man 

Has  special  gift  of  power  and  end  of  life. 

No  man  is  great  who  lives  by  other  law 

Than  that  which  wrapped  his  genius  at  his  birtlt. 

The  Lind  is  great  because  she  is  the  Lind, 

And  not  the  Malabran.     Eecorded  art 

Is  yours  to  study — e'en  to  imitate, 

In  education — imitate  or  shun, 

As  the  case  warrants  ;  but  it  has  destroyed, 

Or  toned  to  commonplace,  more  gifts  of  God 

Than  it  has  ever  fanned  to  life  or  fed. 

Who  never  walks  save  where  he  sees  men's  tracks, 

Makes  no  discoveries.     Show  me  the  man 

Who,  leaving  God  and  natiire  and  himself, 


KATHEINA.  221 

Sits  at  the  feet  of  masters,  stuffs  his  brain 
With  maxims,  notions,  usages  and  rules, 
And  yields  his  fancy  up  to  leading-strings, 
And  I  shall  see -a  man  who  never  did 
A  deed  worth  doing.     So,  in  the  name  of  art — 
Nay,  in  the  name  of  God — do  no  such  thing 
As  smutch  your  knees  by  boAving  at  a  shrine, 
Whose  doubtful  deity,  in  midst  of  dust, 
Sits  in  the  cast-off  robes  of  devotees, 
And  lives  on  broken  victuals  !" 

"Drive,  my  dear  ! 

Drive  on,  and  over  me  !     You're  on  the  old 
High-stepping  horse  to-night ;  so  give  him  rein, 
For  exercise  is  good,"  I  said,  in  mirth. 
"You  sit  your  courser  finely.     I  confess 
I'm  very  proud  of  you,  arid  too  nmch  pleased 
With  your  accomplishments  to  check  your  speed. 
Drive  on,  my  love  !  drive  on  !" 

' '  I  thank  you,  sir  ! 
No  one  so  gracious  as  your  grudging  man 


222  KATHK1NA. 

Under  compulsion  !     With  your  kind  consent 

I'll  drive  a  little  further,"  she  replied, — 

"  For  I  enjoy  it  quite  as  much  as  you — 

The  more  because  you've  given  me  little  chance 

In  these  last  years.     .     .     .     Now,   soberly,  thi.s 

art — 

Of  which  we  talk  so  much,  without  the  power 
To  tell  exactly  what  we  tmderstaud 
By  the  hack  term — suppose  we  take  the  word, 
And  try  to  find  its  meaning.     You  recall 
Old  John  who  dressed  the  borders  in  our  court  : 
You  called  him,  hired  him,  told  him  what  to  do. 
He  and  his  rake  stood  interposed  between 
You  and  your  work.     You  chose  his  skilful  hands, 
Endowing  them  with  pay,  or  pledge  of  pay, 
And  set  him  at  his  labor.     Now  suppose 
Old  John  had  had  a  philosophic  turn 
After  you  left  him,  and  had  thought  like  this  : 
1 1  am  called  here  to  do  a  certain  work — 
My  rake  tells  Avhat ;  and  he  who  called  me  here 
Has  given  me  the  motive  for  the  job. 
The  work  is  plain.     These  borders  arc  to  be 


KA  TURIN  A  223 

Levelled  and  cleaned  of  weeds  :  my  hand,  my  rake 

Are  fitted  for  the  service  ; — this  my  art ;" 

And  it  is  first  of  all  the  arts.     There's  none 

M'orc  ancient,  useful,  worshipful,  indeed, 

Than  agriculture.     Adam  practised  it ; 

Poets  have  sung  its  praises  ;  and  the  great 

Of  every  age  have  loved  and  honored  it. 

This  art  is  greater  than  the  man  I  serve, 

And  greater  than  his  borders.     Therefore  I 

Will  serve  my  art,  and  let  the  borders  lie, 

And  my  employer  whistle.     True  to  that, 

And  to  myself,  it  matters  not  to  nio 

What  weeds  may  grow,  or  what  the  master  think 

Of  my  proceeding  !' 

"  So,  intent  on  this. 

He  hangs  his  rake  upon  your  garden  wall, 
And  steals  your  clematis,  with  which  to  wind 
The  handle  upward  ;  then  o'e.vfills  his  hands 
With  roses  and  geraniums,  and  weaves 
Their  beauty  into  laurel,  for  a  crown 
For  his  slim  god.  completing  his  devoir 


224.  K AT  REIN  A. 

By  buttering  the  teeth,  and  kneeling  dowu 
In  abject  "homage.     Pray,  what  would  you  say. 
At  close  of  day,  when  you  should  go  to  see 
Your  untouched  borders,  and  your  gardener 
At  genuflexion,  with  your  mignonuette 
In  every  button-hole  ?    Remember,  now, 
He  has  been  true  to  art  and  to  himself, 
According  to  his  notion  ;  nor  forget 
To  take  along  a  dollar  for  his  hire, 
Which  he   expects,  of  course  !     What  would  you 
say  ?" 

"Oh  don't  mind  that :  you've  reached  your  'fifth 
ly  '  now, 
And  here  the  'application'  comes,"  I  said. 

"I  think,"  responded  she,  with  an  arch  smile, 
"The  application's  needless  :  but  you  men 
Are  so  obtuse,  when  will  is  in  the  way, 
That  I  will  do  your  bidding.     Every  gil't 
That  God  bestows  on  men  holds  in  itself 
The  secret  of  its  office,  like  the  rake 


KATHR1NA.  225 

The  gardener  wields.     The  rake  was  made  to  till— 

Was  fashioned,  head  and  handle,  for  just  that ; 

And  if,  by  grace  of  God,  you  hold  a  gift 

So  fashioned  and  adapted,  that  it  stands 

In  like  relation  of  supremest  use 

To  life  of  men,  the  office  of  your  gift 

Has  perfect  definition.     Gift  like  this 

Is  yours,  my  husband.     In  your  facile  hand. 

God  placed  it  for  the  service  of  Himself, 

In  service  of  your  kind.     Taking  this  gift, 

And  using  it  for  God  and  for  the  world, 

In  your  own  way,  and  in  your  own  best  way  ; 

Seeking  for  light  and  knowledge  everywhere 

To  guide  your  careful  hand  ;  and  opening  wide 

To  spiritual  influx  ah1  your  soul, 

That  so  your  Master  may  breathe  into  you, 

4nd  breathe  His  great  life  through  you,  in  such 

forms 

Of  pure  presentment  as  He  gives  you  skill 
To  build  withal — that's  all  of  art — for  you. 
Art  is  an  instrument,  and  not  an  end — 
A  servant,  not  a  master,  nor  a  God 


226  KATHR1NA. 

To  be  bowed  down  to.     Shall  we  worship  rakes  ? 
Honor  of  art,  by  him  whose  work  is  art, 
Is  a  fine  passion  :  but  he  honors  most 
Whose  use  and  end  are  best." 

"Use!  Use!  Use!" 

I  cried  impatiently  ; — "nothing  but  use  ! 
As  if  God  never  made  a  violet, 
Or  hung  a  harebell,  or  in  kindling  gold 
Garnished  a  sunset,  or  upreared  the  arch 
Of  a  bright  rainbow,  or  endowed  a  world — 
A  universe,  indeed — stars,  firmament, 
The  vastitudes  of  forest  and  of  sea, 
Swift  brooks  and  sweeping  rivers,  virid  meads 
And  fluff  of  breezy  hills — with  tints  that  range 
The  scale  of  spectral  beauty,  till  they  leave 
No  glint  or  glory  of  the  changeful  light 
Without  a  revelation  !     Is  this  use — 
1  beg  your  pardon,  love  :  you  say  '  this  art ' — 
The  sum  and  end  of  art  ?    If  it  be  so, 
Then  God's  no  artist.     Are  the  crystal  brooks 
Sweeter  for  singing  to  the  thirsty  brutes 


EATHE1NA.  22? 

That  dip  their  beaded  muzzles  in  the  foam  ? 
Burns  the  tree  better  that  its  leaves  are  green  ? 
Sleeps  the  sun  sounder  under  canopy 
Of  gold  or  rose  ?" 

"Yet  beauty  has  its  use," 
Responded  she.     "Whatever  elevates, 
Inspires,  refreshes,  any  human  soul, 
Is  useful  to  that  soul.     Beauty  has  use 
For  you  and  me.     The  dainty  violet 
"Blooms  in   our  thought,  and  sheds  its  fragrance 

there  : 

And  -we  are  gamers  through  its  ministry. 
All  God's  great  values  wear  the  drapery 
That  most  becomes  them.     Beauty  may,  in  truth, 
Be  incident  of  art  and  not  be  end — 
Its  form,  condition,  features,  dress,  and  still 
The  humblest  value  of  the  things  of  art. 
This  truth  obtains  in  all  God's  artistry. 
Does  God  make  beauty  for  himself,  alone  ? 
He  is,  and  holds,  all  beauty.     Has  He  need 
To  kindle  rushes  that  He  may  behold 


228  KATHE1NA. 

The  glory  of  His  thoughts  ?  or  need  to  use 
His  thoughts  as  plasms  for  the  amorphous  clay 
That  He  may  study  models  '?    For  an  end 
Outside  himself,  he  ever  speaks  Himself ; 
And  end,  with  Him,  is  use." 

"Well,  I  confess 

There's  truth  in  what  you  utter,"  I  replied  ; — 
"  A  modicum  of  truth,  at  least ;  and  still 
There's  something  more  which  this  our  subtle  talk 
Has  failed  to  give  us.     I  will  not  affirm 
That  art,  recorded  in  its  thousand  forms, 
And  clothed  with  usages,  traditions,  rules, — 
The  thing  of  history — the  mighty  pile 
Of  drift  that  sweep  of  ages  has  brought  down 
To  heap  the  puzzled  present — is  the  sum 
And  substance  of  all  art.     1  will  not  claim — 
Nay,  mark  me  now — I  will  not  even  claim 
That  beauty  is  art's  end-,  or  has  its  end 
Within  itself.     Our  tedioiis  colloquy 
Has  cleared  away  the  rubbish  from  my  thought, 
And  given  me  cleaner  vision.     I  can  see 


KATER1NA  231) 

Before,  around  me,  underneath,  above, 
The  great  unrealized  ;  and  while  I  bow 
To  the  traditions  and  the  things  of  art, 
And  hold  my  theories,  I  find  myself 
Inspired  supremely  by  the  Possible 
That  calls  for  revelation — by  the  forms 
That  sleep  imprisoned  in  the  snowy  arms 
Of  still  unquarried  truth,  or  stretch  their  hands 
At  sound  of  sledge  and  drill  and  booming  fire, 
Imploring  for  release.     I  turn  from  men, 
.'  And  stretch  my  hands  toward  these.     I  feel — I 

know — 

That  there  are  mighty  myriads  waiting  there, 
And  listening  for  my  steps.     Suppose  my  age 
Should  fail  to  give  them  welcome  ;  ay,  suppose 
They  may  not  help  a  man  to  coin  a  dime 
Or  cook  a  dinner  :  they  will  fare  as  well 
As  much  of  God's  truth  fares,  though  clothed  in 

forms 

Divinely  chosen.     Does  God  ever  stint 
His  utterance  because  no  creature  hears  ? 
Is  it  a  grand  and  goodly  thing,  to  spend 


230  KATHR1NA. 

Brave  life  and  precious  treasures  in  a  search 
For  palpitating  water  at  the  pole, 
That  so  the  sum  of  knowledge  may  be  swelled, 
Though  pearls  are  not  increased ;  and  something 

less 

To  probe  the  Possible  in  art,  or  sit 
Through  months  of  dreary  dark  to  catch  a  glimpse 
Of  the  live  truth  that  quivers  with  the  jar 
Of  movement  at  its  axle  ?    Is  it  good 
To  garner  gain  beyond  the  present  need, 
Won  by  excursive  commerce  in  all  seas  ; 
And  something  less  to  pile  redundantly 
The  spoil  of  thought  ?" 

•'  These  latest  words  of  yours," 
She  answered  musingly,  "impress  me  much  ; 
And  yet,  I  think  I  see  where  they  will  lead, 
Or,  rather,  fail  to  lead.     Your  fantasy 
Is  beautiful  but  vague.     The  Possible 
Is  a  vast  ocean,  from  which  one  poor  soul, 
With  its  slight  oars,  can  float  but  flimsy  freight ; 
Yet  I  would  help  your  courage,  for  I  see 


KAT1I1UNA.  3^1 

Where  your  sole  motive  lies.     Go  on.  and  prove 
Whether  your  scheme  or  mine  holds  more  of  good; 
And  take  my  blessing  with  you." 

Then  she  rose, 

And  kissed  my  forehead.     Looking  in  her  face, 
By  the  sharp  light  that  touched  her,  I  was  thrilled 
By  her  flushed  cheeks  and  strangely  lustrous  eyes. 
She    spoke    not ;    but    I    heard    the    sigh    she 

breathed — 

The  long-drawn,  weary  sigh — as  she  retired  ; 
And  then  the  Possible,  which  had  inspired 
So  wondrously  my  hope,  drooped  low  around, 
And  filled  me  with  foreboding. 

Had  her  life 

Been  chilled  by  my  neglect  ?    Was  it  on  wane  ? 
Could  she  be  lost  to  me  ?    Oh  !  then  I  felt, 
As  I  had  never  felt  before,  how  mean 
Beside  one  true  affection  is  the  best 
Of  all  earth's  prizes,  and  how  little  worth 
The  world  would  be  without  her  love — herself  ! 


234  KATHR1NA. 

That  once  had  charmed  me — in  society 
Where  I  was  welcome  :  but  the  common  talk 
Of  daily  news — of  politics  and  trade — 
Was  senseless  as  the  chatter  of  the  jays 
In  autumn  forests.     No  refreshing  balm 
Came  to  me  in  the  sympathy  of  men. 
In  my  retirement,  I  had  left  the  world 
To  go  its  way  ;  and  it  had  gone  its  way, 
And  left  me  hopelessly.  . 

I  told  my  wife 

Of  my  dissatisfaction  and  disgust,   - 
But  found  small  comfort  in  her  words.     She  said : 
"  The  world  is  wide,  and  woman's  vision  short  ; 
But  I  have  never  seen  a  man  who  turned 
His  efforts  from  his  kind,  and  failed  to  spoil 
All  men  for  him — himself,  indeed,  for  them  ; 
And  he  who  gives  nor  sympathy  nor  aid 
To  the  poor  race  from  which  he  seeks  such  boon, 
Must  be  rejoiced  if  it  be  generous  ; 
Content,  if  it  be  just.     Society 
Is  a  grand  scheme  of  service  and  return. 


KAT1IR1NA.  235 

We  give  and  take  ;  and  he  who  gives  the  most, 
In  ways  directest,  wins  the  best  reward. " 

T3y  purpose,  I  closed  eyes  upon  my  work 

For  many  weeks,  resisting  every  clay 

The  impulse  to  review  the  glowing  dream 

My  fancy  had  engendered  :  for  I  wished 

To  go  with  faculty  and  fancy  cooled 

To  its  perusal.     I  had  strong  desire, 

So  far  as  in  me  lay,  to  see  the  work 

.With  the  world's  eyes,  for  reasons — ah  !  I  shrink 

From  writing  them  !     All  men  are  sometimes  weak. 

And  some  are  inconsistent  with  their  wills. 

If  I  were  one  of  these,  think  not  I  failed 

To  justify  my  weakness  to  myself, 

In  ways  that  saved  my  pride. 

Yet  this  was  true  : 

I  had  an  honest  wish  to  learn  how  far 
My  work  of  heat  had  power  to  re-inspire 
The  soul  that  wrought  it,  and  how  well  my  verse 
Had  clothed  and  kept  the  creature  of  my  thought ; 


236  KATHR1NA. 

For  memory  still  retained  the  loveliness 
That  filled  the  fresh  conceit. 

"When,  in  good  time, 

Best  and  diversion  had  performed  their  work, 
And  the  long  fever  of  my  brain  was  gone, 
I  broached  my  feast,  first  making  fast  my  door, 
That  so  no  eye  should  mark  my  greedy  joy 
Or  my  grimaces, — doubtful  of  the  fate 
That  waited  expectation. 

It -were  vain 

To  try  in  these  tame  words  to  paint  the  pang, 
The  faintness  and  the  chill,  which  overwhelmed 
My  disappointed  heart.     My  welded  thoughts 
Which,  in  their  whitest  heat,  had  bent  and  bound 
My  language  to  themselves,  imparting  grace 
To  stiffest  words,  and  meanings  fresh  and  fine 
To  simplest  phrases,  interfusing  all 
With  their  own  ardency,  and  shining  through 
With  smoothly  rounded  beauty,  lay  in  heaps 
Of  cold,  unmeaning  ugliness.     My  words 


EATHR1NA.  237 

Had  shrunk  to  old  proportions,  and  stood  out 
In  hard,  stiff  angles,  challenging  a  guess 
Of  what  they  covered. 

Meaningless  to  me, 

Who  knew  the  meaning  that  had  once  informed 
Its  faithless  numbers,  what  way  could  I  hope 
That,  to  my  own,  or  any  future  age, 
My  work  should  speak  its  full  significance  ? 
My  latest  child,  begot  in  manly  joy, 
Conceived  in  purity,  and  born  in  toil, 
Lay  dead  before  me, — dead,  and  in  the  shroud 
My  hopeful  hands  had  woven  and  bedecked 
To  be  its  chiisom. 

Then  the  first  I  learned 

Where  language  finds  its  bound, — learned  that  be 
yond 

The  range  of  human  commerce,  save  by  force, 
It  never  moves,  nor  lingers  in  the  realm 
It  thus  invades,  a  moment,  if  the  voice 
Of  human  commerce  speak  not  the  demand  ;— 


238  KATHE1NA. 

That  language  is  a  thing  of  use ; — that  thought 
"Which  seeks  a  revelation,  first  must  seek 
Adjustment  in  the  scale  of  human  need, 
Or  find  no  fitting  vehicle. 

And  more : 

That  the  great  Possible  which  lies  outside 
The  range  of  commerce  is  identical 
With  the  stupendous  Infinite  of  God, 
Which  only  comes  in  glimpses,  or  in  hints 
Of  vague  significance,  so  dim,  so  vast, 
That  subtlest,  most  prehensile  language,  shrinks 
From  plucking  of  its  robes,  the  while  they  sweep 
The  perfumed  air. 

I  closed  my  manuscript, 

And  locked  it  in  my  desk.     Then  stealing  forth, 
I  sought  the  biistle  of  the  street,  to  drown 
In  the  great  roar  of  careless  toil,  the  pain 
That  brings  despair.     My  last  resource  was  gone  ; 
And  as  I  brooded  o'er  the  awful  blank 
Of  hopeless  life  that  waited  for  my  steps, 


KATHR1NA,  23D 

A.  fear  which  I  Lad  feared  to  entertain 
Found  entrance  to  my  heart,  and  lield  it  still, 
Almost  to  bursting. 

Not  alone  my  life 

Was  sliding  from  me  ;  for  my  Letter  life, 
My  pearl  of  price,  the  jewel  in  my  crown, 
My  wife  Kathrina,  growing  lovelier 
With  every  passing  day,  arose  each  mom 
From  wasting  dreams  to  paler  loveliness, 
And  sank  in  growing  weariness  each  night, 
And  hotter  hectic,  to  her  welcome  bed. 
Her  bed  !     The  sweet,  the  precious  nuptial  bed  ! 
Bed  sanctified  by  love  !     Bed  blest  of  God 
With  fruit  immortal  !     Bed  too  soon  to  be 
Crowned  with  the  glory  of  a  Christian  death  ! 
Ah  God  !     How  it  brought  back  the  agony, 
And  the  rebellious  hate  of  other  years — 
The  hopeless  struggle  of  my  will  with  Him 
Whose  will  is  law. 

Thus  torn  with  mingled  though ta 


240  KATHB1NA. 

Of  fear,  despair  and  spite,  I  wore  away 
Miles  of  wild  wandering  about  the  streets, 
Till  weariness  at  last  compelled  my  feet 
To  drag  me  to  my  home. 

Before  my  door 

Stood  the  familiar  chair  of  one  whose  call 
Was  ominous  of  ill.     My  heart  grew  sick 
With  flutter  of  foreboding  and  foredoom  ; 
But  in  swift  silence  I  flew  up  the  steps, 
And,  blind  with  stifled  frenzy,  reached  the  side 
Of  my  poor  wife.     She  smiled  at  seeing  me, 
But  I  could  only  kneel,  and  bathe  her  hands 
With  tears  and  kisses.     In  her  gentle  breast — 
True  home  of  love,  and  love  and  home  to  me — 
The  blood  had  burst  its  walls,  and  flowed  in  flame 
From  lips  it  left  in  ashes. 

In  her  smile 

Of  perfect  trustfulness,  I  caught  first  glimpse 
Of  that  aureola  of  fadeless  light 
Which  spans  my  lonely  couch,  and  kindles  hope 


KATHR1NA.  241 

That  when  my  time  shall  corue  to  follow  her, 
My  spiiit  may  go  out,  enwreathed  aud  wrapped 
By  the  familiar  glory,  which  to-night 
Shah1  brood  o'er  all  my  vigils  and  my  dreams  1 


DESPAIR. 


AH  !  what  is  so  dead  as  a  perished  delight ! 

Or  a  passion  outlived  !  or  a  scheme  overthrown  ! 
Save  the  bankrupt  heart  it  has  left  in  its  flight, 

Still  as  quick  as  the  eye,  but  as  cold  as  a  stone  ! 

The  honey-bee  hoards  for  its  winter-long  need, 
The  treasure  it  gathers  in  joy  from  the  flowers  ; 

And  drinks  in  each  sip  of  its  silvery  mead 

The  flavor  and  flush  of  the  sweet  summer  hours. 

But  a  pleasure  expires  at  its  earliest  breath  ; 

No  labor  can  hoard  it,  no  cunning  can  save  ; 
For  the  song  of  its  life  is  the  sigh  of  its  death, 

And  the  sense  it  has  thrilled  is  its  shroud  and  its 
grave. 


KATHR1NA.  243 

AJi !  what  id  our  love,  with  its  tincture  of  Ifst, 
And  its  pleasure  that  pains  us  and  pain  that  en 
dears, 
But  joy  in  an  arniful  of  beautiful  dust 

That  crumbles  and  flies  on  the  wings  of  the 
years  ? 

And  what  is  ambition  for  glory  and  power, 
But  desire  to  be  reckoned  the  uppermost  fool 

Of  a  million  of  fools,  for  a  pitiful  hour, 
And  be  cursed  for  a  tyrant,  or  kicked  for  a  tool  ? 

Nay,  what  is  the  noblest  that  art  can  achieve, 
But  to  conjure  a  vision  of  light  to  the  eyes, 

That  will  pale  ere  we  paint  it,  and  pall  ere  we 

leave 
On  the  heart  it  betrays  and  the  hand  it  defies  ? 

We  love,  and  we  long  with  an  infinite  greed 
For  a  love  that  Avill  fill  our  deep  longing,  in  vain ; 

The  cup  that  we  drink  of  is  pleasant,  indeed, 
Yet  it  holds  but  a  drop  of  the  heavenly  rain. 


244  KATHR1NA. 

We  pla^  for  our  powers  tlie  divinest  we  can  ; 

We  do  with  our  powers  the  supreinest  we  may ; 
And,  winning  or  losing,  for  labor  and  plan 

The  best  that  we  garner  is — rest  and  decay  ! 

Content  —  satisfaction —  who    wins    them  ?    Look 

down ! 
They  are  held  without  thought  by  the  dolts  and 

the  drones : 

'Tis  the  slave  who  in  carelessness  carries  the  crown; 
And  the  hovels  have    kingliei-  men    than  the 
thrones. 

The  maid  sings  of  love  to  the  hum  of  her  wheel ; 

And  her  lover  responds  as  he  follows  his  team  ; 
They  wed,  and  their  children  come  quickly  to  seal 

In  fulfilment  the  pledge  of  their  loftiest  dream. 

With  humblest  ambitions  and  homeliest  fare, 

Contented,  though  toiling,  they  travel  abreast, 
Till  the  kind  hand  of  death  lifts  their  burden  of 
care, 


KATHR1NA  SS45 

And  they  si  ok,  in  the  faith  of  their  fathers,  to 
rest. 

i 
Did  I  beg  to  be  born  ?    Did  I  seek  to  exist  ? 

Did  I  bargain  for  promptings  to  loftier  gains  ? 
Did  I  ask  for  a  brain,  with  contempt  of  the  fist 
That  could  win  a  reward  for  its  labor  and  pains  ? 

Was  it  kind — the  strong  promise  that  girded  my 

youth  ? 
Was  it  good — the   endowment  of  motive    and 

skill? 

Was  it  well  to  succeed,  when  success  was  in  truth, 
But  the  saddest  of  failure  ?    Make  answer,  who 
will! 

Do  I  rave  without  reason  ?     Why,  look  you,  I  pray! 

I  have  won  all  I  sought  of  the  highest  and  best ; 
But  it  brings  me  no  guerdon  ;  and  hopeless  to-day. 

I  am  poorer  than  when  I  set  out  on  the  quest. 

Oh  !  emptiness  !     Life,  what  art  thou  but  a  lie, 


246  KATHR1NA. 

Which  I  greeted  and  honored  with  hopefullest 

trust  ? 

Pah  !  the  beautiful  apples  that  tempted  niy  eye 
Break  dead  on  my  tongue  into  ashes  and  dust ! 

"A  Father  who  loves  all  the  children  of  men  ?" 
"A  future  to  fill  all  these  bottomless  gaps  ?" 

But  one  life  has  failed  :  can  I  fasten  again 
With  my  faith  and  my  hope  to  a  specious  Per 
haps  ? 

O  !  man  who  begot  me  !     O  !  woman  who  bore  ! 

Why.  why  did  you  call  me  to  being  and  breath  ? 
With  ruin  behind  me,  and  darkness  before, 

I  have  nothing  to  long  for,  or  live  for,  but  death! 


PART  IV. 


CONSUMMATION. 

A  GUEST  was  in  my  house — a  guest  unbid — 
Who  stayed  without  a  welcome  from  his  host ; — 
So  loathed  and  hated,  on  such  errand  bent, 
And  armed  with  such  resistless  power  of  ill, 
I  dared  not  look  him  in  the  face.     I  heard 
His  tireless  footsteps  in  the  lonely  halls, 
In  the  chill  hours  of  night ;  and,  in  the  day, 
They  climbed  the  stairs,  or  loitered  through  the 

rooms 

With  lawless  freedom.     Ever  when  I  turned 
I  caught  a  glimpse  of  him.     His  shadow  stalked 
Between  me  and  the  light,  and  fled  before 
My  restless  feet,  or  followed  close  behind. 
Whene'er  I  bent  above  the  couch  that  held 


248  KATHR1NA. 

My  fading  wife,  though  looking  not,  I  knew 
That  he  was  bending  from  the  other  side, 
And  mocking  me. 

Familiar  grown,  at  last, 

He  came  more  closely — came  and  sat  with  me 
Through,  hours  of  revery  ;  or,  as  I  paced 
My  dimly  -lighted  room,  slipped  his  lank  arm 
Through  mine,  and  whispered  in  my  shrinking  ear 
Such  fearful  words  as  made  me  sick  and  cold. 
He  took  the  vacant  station  at  my  board, 
Sitting  where  she  had  sat,  and  mixed  my  cup 
With  poisoned  waters,  saying  in  low  tones 
That  none  but  me  could  hear : 

"  This  little  room, 

Where  you  have  breakfasted  and  dined  and  supped, 
And  laughed  and  chatted  in  the  days  gone  by, 
Will  be  a  lonely  place  when  we  are  gone. 
Those  roses  at  the  window,  that  were  wont 
To  bloom  so  freely  with  the  lady's  care, 
Already  miss  her  touch.     That  ivy-vine 


KATHRINA.  249 

Has  grown  a  yard  since  it  was  tied,  and  needs 
A  training  hand." 

Eising  with  bitter  tears 
To  flee  his  presence,  he  arose  with  mo, 
And  wandered  through  the  rooms. 

"This  casket  here " — 

I  heard  him  say  :  "  Suppose  we  loose  the  clasp. 
These  are  her  jewels — pretty  gifts  of  yours. 
.-There  is  a  diamond  :  there  a  string  of  pearls. 
That  paly  opal  holds  a  mellow  fire 
"Which  minds  me  of  the  mistress,  whose  bright  soul 
Glows  through  the  lucent  whiteness  of  her  face 
With  lambent  flicker.     These  are  legacies  : 
She  will  not  wear  them  more.     Her  taste  and  mine 
Are.  one  in  this,  that  both  of  us  love  flowers. 
Ay,  she  shall  have  them,  too,  some  pleasant  day, 
When  she  goes  forth  with  me  ! 

"So  ?  what  is  this? 
Her  wardrobe  !    Let  the  door  be  opened  wide  1 


250  KATHR1NA. 

This  musk,  so  blent  with  scent  of  violets, 
Eevives  one.     You  remember  when  she  wore 
That  lavender  ? — a  very  pretty  silk  ! 
Here  is  a  moire  antique.     Ah !  yes — I  see  ! 
You  did  not  like  her  in  it.     'Twas  too  old, 
And  too  suggestive  of  the  dowager. 
There  is  your  favorite — that  glossy  blue — 
The  sweet  tint  stolen  from  the  sides  of  June — 
But  she  is  done  with  it.     I  wonder  who 
Will  wear  it,  when  your  grief  shall  find  a  pause  1 
Your  daughter — possibly  ?    .     .     You  shiver,  sir  ! 
Is  it  the  velvet  ?     Like  a  pall,  you  think  ! 
Well,  close  the  door  ! 

"  Those  slippers  on  the  rug  : 
The  time  will  come  when  you  will  kiss  their  soles 
For  the  dear  life  that  pressed  them.     Their  rosettes 
Will  be  more  redolent  than  roses  then. 
You  did  not  know  how  much  you  loved  your  wife  ? 
I  thought  so ! 

"  This  way  !    Let  us  take  our  stand 


KATHR1NA.  251 

Beside  her  bed.     Not  quite  so  beautiful 
To  your  fond  eyes  as  when  she  was  a  bride, 
Though  still  a  lovely  woman  !    Seems  it  strange 
That  she  is  yours  no  longer  ? — that  her  hand 
Is  given  to  another — to  the  one 
For  whom  she  has  been  waiting  all  her  life, 
And  ready  all  her  life  ?    Your  power  is  gone 
To  punish  rivals.     There  you  stand  and  weep, 
But  dare  not  lift  a  finger,  while  with  smiles 
And  kindly  welcome  she  extends  her  hands 
To  greet  her  long-expected  friend.     She  knows 
Where  I  will  take  her — to  what  city  of  God, 
What  palace  there,  and  what  companionship. 
She  knows  what  robes  will  drape  her  loveliness, 
What  flowers  bedeck  her  hair,  and  rise  and  fall 
Upon  the  pulses  of  her  happy  breast. 
And  you,  poor  man  !  with  all  your  jealous  pride, 
Have  learned  that  she  would  turn  again  to  you, 
And  to  your  food  and  furniture  of  life, 
With  disappointment. 

« 
"  Af,  she  pities  you — 


252  KATIIR1NA. 

Loves- yon,  indeed  ;  but  there  is  One  she  lovea 
With  holiev  passion,  and  with  more  entire 
And  gladder  self-surrender.     She  will  go — 
You  know  that  she  will  go — and  go  with  joy  ; 
And  you  begin  to  see  how  poor  and  mean, 
When  placed  beside  her  joy,  are  all  your  gifts, 
And  all  that  you  have  Avon  by  them. 

"Poor  man ! 

Weeping  again  !    Well,  if  it  comfort  you, 
Rain  your  salt  tears  upon  her  Avaxen  hands, 
And  kiss  them  dry  at  leisure  !    Press  her  lips, 
Hot  with  the  hectic  !    Lay  your  cold,  wet  cheek 
Against  the  burning  scarlet  of  her  own  : 
Only  remember  that  she  is  not  yours, 
And  that  your  paroxysms  of  grief  and  tears 
Are  painful  to  her." 

Ah  !  to  wait  for  death  ! 
To  see  one's  idol  with  the  signature 
Of  the  Destroyer  stamped  upon  her  brow, 
And  know  that  she  ia  doomed,  beyond  all  hope  ; 


KATIIR1NA.  253 

To  watch  her  while  she  fades  ;  to  see  the  form 

That  once  was  beauty's  own  become  a  corpse 

In  all  but  breathing,  and  to  meet  her  eyes 

A  hundred  times  a  day — while  the  heart  bleeds — 

With  smiles  of  smooth  dissembling,  and  with  words 

Cheerful  as  morning,  and  to  do  all  this 

Through  weeks  and  weary  months,  till  one  half 

longs 

To  see  the  spell  dissolved,  and  feel  the  worst 
That  death  can  do  :  can  there  be  misery 
'  Sadder  than  this  ? 

My  time  I  passed  alone, 
And  at  the  bedside  of  my  dying  wife. 
She  talked  of  death  as  children  talk  of  sleep, 
When — a  forgetful  blank — it  lies  between 
Their  glad  impatience  and  a  holiday. 
The  morrow — ah  !  the  morrow  !    That  was  name 
For  hope  all  realized,  for  work  all  done, 
For  pain  all  past,  for  life  and  strength  renewed, 
For  fruitage  of  endeavor,  for  repose 
For  heaven  1 


254  KATHR1NA. 

What  would  the  morrow  bring  to  me  ? 
The  morrow — ah  !  the  morrow  !    It  was  blank — 
Nay,  blank  and  black  with  gloom  of  clouds  and 

night. 

Never  before  had  I  so  realized 
My  helplessness.     I  could  not  find  relief 
In  love  or  labor.     I  could  only  sit, 
And  gaze  against  a  wall,  without  the  power 
To  pierce  or  climb.     My  pride  of  life  was  gone, 
My  spirit  broken,  and  my  strife  with  God 
"Was  finished.     If  I  could  not  look  before, 
I  dared  not  look  above  ;  and  so,  whene'er 
I  could  forget  the  present,  I  went  back 
Upon  the  past. 

One  soft  June  day,  my  thoughts, 
Touched  by  some  song  of  bird,  or  glimpse  of  green, 
Returned  to  life's  bright  morning,  and  the  Junes 
That  flooded  with  their  wealth  of  life  and  song 
The   valley   of  my  birth.     Again    I    walked    the 

meads, 
Brilliant  with  beaded  grass,  and  heard  the  shrill, 


AGAIN  1  TROD  THE  FOUEST  PATHS. 


KATIIR1NA.  255 

Sweet  jargon  of  tlie  meadow-birds. 


I  trod  the  forest  paths,  in  shade  of  trees 

With  foliage  so  tender  that  the  sun 

Shot  through  the  soft,  thin  leaves  its  virid  sheen, 

As  through  the  emerald  waters  of  the  sea. 

The  scarlet  tanager  —  a  flake  of  fire, 

Blown  from  the  tropic  heats  upon  the  breath   ' 

That  brought  the  summer  —  caught  upon  a  twig, 

Or  quenched  its  glow  in  some  remote  recess. 

The  springing  ferns  unfolded  at  my  feet 

Their  tan-brown  scrolls,  the  tiny  star-flower  shone 

Among  its  leaves  :  the  insects  filled  the  air 

With  a  monotonous,  reedy  resonance 

Of  whir  and  hum,  and  I  sat  down  again 

Upon  a  bank  to  gather  violets. 

From  dreams  of  retrospective  joy  I  woke 

At  last,  to  the  quick  tinkle  of  a  bell. 

My  wife  had  touched  it.     She  had  been  asleep, 

And,  waking,  called  me  to  her  side.     The  note, 

Familiar  as  the  murmur  of  her  voice, 

For  the  first  time  was  strange.     Another  bell, 


256  KATHRINA. 

With  other  music,  rang  adown  the  years 
That  lay  between  me  and  the  golden  day 
When,  up  the  mountain-path,  I  followed  far 
The  lamb  that  bore  it.     All  the  scene  came  back 
In  a  broad  flash  ;  and  with  it  came  the  same 
Strange  apprehension  of  a  mighty  change — 
A  vague  prevision  of  transition,  born 
Of  what,  I  knew  not ;  on  what  errand  sent, 
I  could  not  guess. 

I  rose  upon  my  feet, 

Responsive  to  the  summons,  when  I  heard, 
Repeated  in  the  ear  of  memory, 
The  words  my  mother  spoke  to  me  that  day ; 

"  My  Paul  has  climbed  the  noblest  mountain-height 

"In  all  his  little  world,  and  gazed  on  scenes 

"As  beautiful  as  rest  beneath  the  sun. 

"  I  trust  he  will  remember  all  his  life 

"  That,  to  his  best  achievement,  and  the  spot 

"  Closest  to  heaven  his  youthful  feet  have  trod, 

"  He  has  been  guided  by  a  guileless  lamb. 


KATHR1NA,  2o7 

•'It  is  an  oraen  which  his  mother's  heaii 
"Will  treasure  with  her  jewels." 

Had  her  tongue 

Been  moved  to  prophecy  ?     Orneii  of  what  ? — 
Of  a  new  height  of  life  to  be  achieved 
By  my  lamb's  leading  ?     Ay,  it  seemed  like  this  ? 
An  answer  to  a  thousand  prayers,  up-breathed 
By  her  whom  I  had  lost,  repeated  long 
By  her  whom  I  was  losing  ?     Was  it  this  ? 
,  Thus  charged  with  premonition,  when  I  stepped 
Into  the  shaded  room,  my  cheeks  were  pale, 
And  every  nerve  was  quivering  with  the  stress 
Of  uncontrolled  emotion.     Ah  !  my  lamb  ! 
How  white  !     How  innocent !     My  lamb,  my  lamb ! 
Even  the  scarlet  ribbon  which  adorned 
The  lambkin  of  my  chase  was  at  her  throat, 
Repeated  in  a  bright  geranium- flower  ! 

"Loop  up  the  curtains,  love  !     Let  in  the  light  !" 
The  words  came  strong  and  sweet,  as  if  the  lifo 
From  which  they  breathed  were  at  its  tidal  flood. 


258  KATHR1NA. 

"  Oil  !  blessed  light !"  she  added,  as  the  sun 
Flamed  on  the  velvet  roses  of  the  floor, 
And  touched  to  life  the  pictures  on  the  wall, 
And  smote  the  dusk  with  bars  of  amber. 

"Paul!" 

I  turned  to  answer,  and  beheld  a  face 
That  glowed  with  a  celestial  fire  like  his 
Who  talked  with  God  in  Sinai. 

"Paul,"  she  said, 

"  I  have  Deen  almost  home.     I  may  not  tell, 
For  language  cannot  paint,  what  I  have  seen. 
The  veil  was  very  thin,  and  I  so  near, 
I  caught  the  sheen  of  multitudes,  and  heard 
Voices  that  called  and  answered  from  afar 
Through  spaces  inconceivable,  and  songs 
Whose  harmonies  responsive  surged  and  sank 
On  the  attenuate  air,  till  all  my  soul 
Was  thrilled  and  filled  with  music,  and  I  prayed 
To  be  let  loose,  that  I  might  cast  myself 


KATHR1NA.  259 

Upon  tlie  mighty  tides,  and  give  my  life 
To  the  supernal  raptures.     Ay,  I  prayed 
That  death  might  come,  and  give  me  my  release 
From  this  poor  clay,  and  that  I  might  be  born 
13y  its  last  travail  into  life." 

"  Dear  -wife,"  I  said, 

"  You  have  been  -wildly  dreaming,  and  your  brain, 
Quickened  to  strange  vagaries  by  disease, 
Has  cheated  you.     You  nmst  not  talk  like  this  : 
'Twill  harm  you.     I  will  hold  your  hand  awhile, 
And  you  shall  have  repose." 

She  smiled  and  said, 

While  her  eyes  shone  with  an  unearthly  light : 
"  You  are  not  wise,  my  dear,  in  things  like  these. 
The  vision  was  as  real  as  yourself  ; 
And  it  will  not  be  long  before  I  go 
To  niiugle  in  the  life  that  I  have  seen. 
I  know  it,  dearest,  for  she  told  me  this." 

"  She  told  you  this  ?"  I  said,— "Who  told  you  this  ? 
Did  you  hold  converse  with  the  multitude  ?" 


260  KATHR1NA. 

"  Not  with  the  multitude,"  she  answered  me  ; 
"But  while  I  gazed  upoii  the  throng,  and  prayed 
That  death  might  loose  rue,  there  appeared  a  group 
Of  radiant  ones  behind  the  filmy  veil 
That  huug  between  us,  looking  helplessly 
Upon  my  struggle,  but  with  eyes  that  beamed 
With  love  ineffable.     I  knew  them  too — 
Knew  all  of  them  but  one — and  she  the  first, 
And  sweetest  of  them  all.     Pure  as  the  light, 
And  beautiful  as  morning,  she  advanced  ; 
Aud,  at  her  touch,  the  veil  was  parted  wide, 
While  she  passed  through,  and  stood  beside  my 

bed. 

She  took  my  hand,  she  kissed  my  burning  cheek, 
And  then,  in  words  that  calmed  my  spirit,  said  : 

"  Your  prayer  will  soon  be   answered ;  but  one 

prayer, 

Breathed  many  years  by  you,  and  many  years 
By  one  you  know  not,  must  be  answered  first. 
You  must  go  back,. though  for  a  little  time, 
And  reap  the  harvest  of  a  life.     To  him 


KATHR1NA.  26] 

Whom  you  and  I  have  loved,  say  all  your  heart 

Shall  move  your  lips  to  speak,  and  he  will  hear. 

The  strength,  the  boldness,  the  persuasive  power 

Which  you  may  need  for  this,  shah1  ah1  be  yours  ; 

For  you  shall  have  the  ministry  of  those 

Whom  you  have  seen.     Speak  as  a  dying  wife 

Has  liberty  to  speak  to  him  she  leaves  ; 

And  teh1  him  this — that  he  may  know  the  voice 

That  gives  you  your  commission — tell  him  this  : 

The  lamb  has  slipped  the  leash  by  which  his  hand 

Held  her  in  thrall,  and  seeks  the  mountain-height ; 

And  he,  if  he  reclaim  her  to  his  grasp, 

Must  follow  where  she  leads,  and  kneel  at  last 

Upon  the  summit  by  her  side.     And  more  : 

Give  him  my  promise  that  if  he  do  this, 

He  shall  receive  from  that  fair  altitude 

Such  vision  of  the  realm  that  lies  around, 

Cleft  by  the  river  of  immortal  life, 

As  shall  so  lift  him  from  his  selfishness, 

And  so  enlarge  his  soul,  that  he  shall  stand 

Redeemed  from  all  airworthiness,  and  saved 

To  happiness  and  heaven." 


263-  K A  THE  IN  A. 

Her  words  flowed  forth 
With  the  strong  utterance,  in-  truth,  of  one 
Inspired  from  other  worlds  ;  while  pale  and  faint, 
I  drank  her  revelations.     Unbelief 
Had  given  the  he  to  her  abounding  faith, 
And  held  her  vision  figment  of  disease, 
Until  the  message  of  my  mother  fell 
Upon  my  ears.     Then  overcome,  I  wept 
With  deep  convulsions,  rose  and  walked  the  room, 
Wrung  my  clasped  hands,  and  cried  with  choking 

voice, 
"  My  mother  !  O  !  my  mother  !" 


"Gently,  love ! 

For  she  is  with  you,"  said  my  dying  wife. 
"  Nay,  all  of  them  are  with  us.     This  small  room 
Is  now  the  gate  of  heaven  ;  and  you  must  do 
That  which  befits  the  presence  and  the  place. 
Come  !  sit  beside  me  ;  for  my  time  is  short, 
And  I  have  much  to  say.     What  will  you  do 
When  I  am  gone  ?    Will  the  old  life  of  art 


KATIIRINA.  263 

Content  yon  ?    Will  you  fill  your  waiting  time 
With  the  old  dreams  of  fame  and  excellence  ?" 

"Alas  !"  I  answered,  "  I  am  done  with  life  : 
My  life  is  dead ;  and  though  my  hand  has  won 
All  it  has  striven  to  win,  and  all  my  heart 
In  its  weak  pride  has  prompted  it  to  seek 
Of  love  and  honor  ;  though  success  is  mine 
In  all  my  eager  enterprise,  I  know 
My  life  has  been  a  failure.     I  am  left 
Or  shall  be  left,  when  you,  my  love,  are  gone, 
Without  resource — a  hopeless,  worthless  man, 
Longing  to  hide  his  shame  and  his  despair 
Within  the  grave." 

"  I  thank  thee,  Lord  !"  she  said  : 
"So   many  prayers  are   answered!     .     .     .     You 

knew  not 

That  I  had  asked  for  this.     You  did  not  know, 
When  you  were  striving  with  your  feeble  might 
For  the  great  prizes  that  beguiled  your  pride, 
That  at  the  hand  of  God  I  begged  success. 


264  EATHR1NA. 

Ay,  Paul,  I  prayed  tliat  you  miglit  gather  all 
The  good  that  you  have  won,  arid  that,  at  last, 
You  might  be  brought  to  know  the  worthlessness 
Of  every  selfish  meed,  and  feel  how  weak — • 
How  worse  than  helpless— is  the  highest  man 
Who  lives  within,  and  labors  to,  himself. 
Not  one  of  all  the  prizes  you  have  gained 
Contains  the  good  that  lies  in  your  despoil'." 

"  Teach  me,"  I  said,  "  for  I  am  ignorant ; 
Lead  me,  for  I  am  blind.     Explain  the  past, 
With  all  its  errors.     Why  am  I  so  low, 
And  you  so  high  ?" 

She  pressed  my  hand,  and  said  : 
"  You  have  been  hungry  ah1  your  life  for  God, 
And  known  it  not.     You  lavished  first  on  me 
Your  heart's  best  love.     Yrou  poured  its  treasured 

wealth 

At  an  unworthy  shrine.  You  made  a  God 
Of  poor  mortality  ;  and  when  you  learned 
Your  love  was  greater  than  the  one  you  loved — • 


EATHR1NA.  265 

The  one  you  worshiped — you  invoked  the  aid 
Of  your  imagination,  to  enrich 
Your  pampered  idol,  till  at  last  you  bowed 
Before  a  creature  of  your  thought.     You  stole 
From  excellence  divine  the  grace  and  good 
That  made  me  worshipful ;  and  even  these 
Palled  on  your  heart  at  last,  and  ceas'ed  to  yield 
The  inspiration  that  you  craved.     You  pined, 
You  starved  for  something  infinitely  sweet ; 
And  still  you  sought  it  blindly,  wilfully, 
In  your  poor  wife, — sought  it,  and  found  it  not, 
Through  wasted  years  of  life. 

"  And  then  you  craved 
An  infinite  return.     You  asked  for  more 
Than  I  could  give,  although  I  gave  you  all 
That  woman  can  bestow  on  man.     You  knew 
You  held  my  constant  love,  unlimited 
Save  by  the  bounds  of  mortal  tenderness  ; 
And  still  yon  longod  for  more.     Then  cprang  your 

scheme 
For  finding  in  the  love  of  multitudes, 


266  KATHR1NA. 

And  in  their  praise,  that  which  had  failed  in  rae. 
You  wrote  for  love  and  fame,  and  won  them  both 
By  manly  striving — won  and  wore  them  long. 
All  good  there  is  in  love  and  praise  of  men, 
You  garnered  in  your  life.     On  tin's  reward 
You  lived,  till  you  were  sated,  or  until 
You  learned  if  bore  no  satisfying  meed — 
Learned  that  the  love  of  many  was  not  more 
Than  love  of  one.     With  all  niy  love  your  own, 
With  love  and  praise  of  men,  your  famished  soxd 
Craved  infinite  approval — craved  a  love 
Beyond  the  love  of  woman  and  of  man. 

"  Then  with  new  hope,  you  apotheosized 

Your  cherished  art,  and  sought  for  excellence 

And  for  your  own  approval ;  with  what  end, 

Your  helplessness  informs  me.     You  essayed 

The  revelation  of  the  mighty  forms 

That  dwell  in  the  iinrealized.     You  sought 

To  shape  your  best  ideals,  and  to  find 

In  the  grand  scheme  your  motive  and  reward. 

AH  this  blind  reaching  after  excellence, 


KATHRINA.  267 

Was  but  the  reaching  of  your  soul  for  God. 
Imagination  could  not  touch  the  height, 
And  you  were  baffled.     So,  you  failed  to  find 
The  God  your  spirit  yearned  for  in  your  art. 
And  failed  of  self -approval. 


' '  You  have  now 

But  one  resource, — you  are  shut  up  to  this  : 
You  must  bow  down  and  worship  God  ;  and  give 
Your  heart  to  Him,  accept  His  love  for  you, 
And  feast  your  soul  on  excellence  in  Him. 
So,  a  new  life  shall  open  to  your  feet, 
Strown  richly  with  reAvards  ;  and  when  your  steps 
Shall  reach  the  river,  I  will  wait  for  you 
Upon  the  other  shore,  and  we  shall  be 
One  in  the  life  immortal  as  in  this. 
O  !  Paul !  your  time  is  now.     I  cannot  die 
And  leave  you  comfortless.     I  cannot  die 
And  enter  on  the  pleasures  that  I  know 
Await  me  yonder,  with  the  consciousness 
That  you  are  still  unhappy. " 


268  KATIIR1NA. 

All  my  life 

Tlius  lay  revealed  in  light  which  she  had  poured 
Upon  its  track.     I  learned  where  she  had  found 
Her  peaceful  joy,  her  satisfying  good, 
And  where,  in  my  rebellious  pride  of  heart, 
Mine  had  been  lost.     She,  by  an  instinct  sure, 
Or  by  the  grace  of  Heaven,  had  in  her  youth, 
Though  sorely  chastened,  given  herself  to  God  ; 
And  through  a  life  of  saintly  purity — 
A  life  of  love  to  me  and  love  to  all — 
Had  feasted  at  the  fountain  of  all  love, 
Had  worshiped  at  the  Excellence  Divine, 
And  only  waited  for  my  last  adieu 
To  take  her  crown. 

I  sat  like  one  struck  dumb. 
I  knew  not  how  to  speak,  or  what  to  do. 
She  looked  at  me  expectant ;  while  a  thrill 
Of  terror  shot  through  all  my  frame. 

"Alas!" 
She  said,  "I  thought  you  would  be  ready  now." 


KATHR1NA  269 

At  this,  the  door  was  opened  silently, 

And  our  dear  daughter  stood  within  the  room. 

Alarmed  at  vision  of  the  sudden  change 

That  death  had  wrought  upon  her  mother's 'face, 

She  hastened  to  her  side,  and  kneeling  there, 

Bowed  on  her  breast  with  tears  and  choking  sobs, 

Her  heart  too  full  for  speech. 

"  Be  silent,  dear  !" 

The  dying  mother  said,  resting  her  hand 
Upon  her  daughter's  head.     "  Be  silent,  dear  ! 
Your  father  kneels  to  pray.     Make  room  for  him, 
That  he  may  kneel  beside  you." 

At  her  words, 

T  was  endowed  with  apprehensions  new  ; 
And  somewhere  in  my  quickened  consciousness, 
I  felt  the  presence  of  her  heavenly  friends, 
And  knew  that  there  were  spirits  in  the  room. 
I  did  not  doubt,  nor  have'  I  doubted  since, 
That  there  were  loving  witnesses  of  all 
The  scenes  "enacted  round  that  hallowed  bed. 


270  KATHR1NA. 

Ay,  and  they  epoke.     Deep  iu  the  innermost 

I  heard  the  tender  words,  "  O  !  kneel  my  son  ! — " 

A  sweet  monition  from  my  mother's  lips. 

"  Kneel !  kneel !"    It  was  the  echo  of  a  throng. 

"Kneel!   kneel!"     The  gentle    mandate  reached 

my  heart 

From  depths  of  lofty  space.     It  was  the  voice 
Of  the  Good  Father. 

From  the  curtain  folds, 
That  rustled  at  the  window,  in  the  airs 
That  moved  with  conscious  pulse  to  passing  wings, 
Came  the  same  burden,  "  Kneel !" 

"Kneel!  kneel  !     O  !  kneel!" 
In  tones  of  earnest  pleading,  came  from  lips 
Already  pinched  by  death. 

A  hundred  worlds, 
Imposed  upon  my  shoulders,  had  not  bowed 


KATHR1NA.  271 

And  crushed  me  to  my  knees  with  surer  power. 
The  hand  that  lay  upon  my  daughter's  head 
Then  passed  to  mine  ;  but  still  my  lips  were  dumb. 

"Pray  !"  said  the  spirit  of  my  mother. 

-     "Pray!" 
The  word  repeated,  came  from  many  lips. 

"Pray  !"  said  the  voice  of  God  within  my  soul ; 
While  every  whisper  of  the  living  air 
Echoed  the  low  command. 

"Pray  !  pray  1     O  !  pray  !" 
My  dying  wife  entreated. 


"Words  were  given, 

And  I  poured  out  like  water  all  my  heart. 
"  O  !  God  !"  I  said,  "be  merciful  to  me 
A  reprobate  !    I  have  blasphemed  Thy  name, 
Abused  Thy  patient  love,  and  held  from  Thee 


274  KATHR1NA. 

A  satisfied,  triumphant,  shining  smile, 
Lit  by  the  heavenly  glory. 

"Paul,"  she  said, 

' '  My  work  is  done  ;  but  you  will  live  and  work 
These  many  years.     Your  life  is  just  begun, 
Too  late,  but  well  begun  ;  and  you  are  mine, 
Now  and  foreverniore.     .     .     .     Dear  Lord !  my 

thanks 
For  this  Thy  crowning  blessing  !" 

Then  she  paused, 

And  raised  her  eyes  in  a  seraphic  trance, 
And  lifted  her  thin  fingers,  that  were  thrilled 
With  tremulous  motion,  like  the  slender  spray 
On  which  a  throbbing  song-bird  clings,  and  pours 
His  sweet  incontinence  of  ecstasy, 
And  then  in  broken  whispers  said  to  me  : 
'  Do  you  not  hear  them  ?     They  have  caught  the 

news ; 

And  all  the  sky  is  ringing  with  their  song 
Of  gladness  and  of  welcome.    '  Paul  is  saved! 


KATHR1NA  275 

Paul  is  redeemed  and  saved!'    I  hear  them  cry  : 
And  myriad  voices  catch  the  new  delight, 
And  carry  the  acclaim,  till  heaven  itself 
Sends  back  the  happy  echo  :  '  Paul  is  saved!'  " 

She  stretched  her  hands,   and  took  me  to  her 

breast. 

I  kissed  her,  blessed  her,  spoke  my  last  adieu, 
And  yielded  place  to  her  whom  God  had  given 
To  be  our  child.     After  a  long  embrace, 
She  whispered  :  "I  am  weary ;  let  me  sleep  1" 

She  passed  to  peaceful  slumber  like  a  child, 
The  while  attendant  angels  built  the  dream 
On  which  she  rode  to  heaven.     Not  once  again 
She  spoke  to  mortal  ears,  but  slept  and  smiled, 
And  slept  and  smiled  again,  till  daylight  passed. 
The  night  came  down  ;  the  long  hours  lapsed  away; 
The  city  sounds  grew  fainter,  till  at  last 
We  sat  alone  with  silence  and  with  death. 
At  the  first  blush  of  morning  she  looked  up, 
And  spoke,  biit  not  to  us  :  "  I'm  coming  now  !" 


276  KATHR1NA. 

I  sought  the  window  to  relieve  the  pain 
Of  long  suppressed  emotion.     In  the  East, 
Tinged  with  the  golden  dawn,  the  morning  star 
Was  blazing  in  its  glory,  while  beneath, 
The  slender  moon,  at  its  last  rising,  hung, 
Paling  and  dying  in  the  growing  light, 
And  passing  with  that  leading  up  to  heaven. 
My  daughter  stood  beside  her  mother's  bed, 
But  I  had  better  vision  of  the  scene 
In  the  sweet  symbol  God  had  hung  for  me 
Upon  the  sky. 

Swiftly  the  dawn  advanced, 
And  higher  rose,  and  still  more  faintly  shone, 
The  star-led  uaoon.     Then,  as  it  faded  out, 
Quenched  by  prevailing  day,  I  heard  one  sigh — 
A  sigh  so  charged  with  pathos  of  deep  joy, 
And  peace  ineffable,  that  memory 
Can  never  lose  the  sound  :  and  all  was  past  ! 


The  peaceful  summer-day  that  rose  upon 
This  night  of  trial  and  this  morn  of  grief, 


KATHR1NA.  277 

Hose  not  with  calmer  light  than  that  which  dawned 
Upon  niy  spirit.     Chastened,  bowed,  subdued, 
I  kissed  the  rod  that  sniote  me,  and  exclaimed  : 
"  The  Lord  hath  given  ;  the  Lord  hath  taken  away 
And  blessed  be  His  name  !" 

Rebellion  slept. 

I  grieve,  and  still  I  grieve  ;  but  with  a  heart 
At  peace  with  God,  and  soft  with  sympathy 
Toward  all  my  sorrowing,  struggling,  sinful  race. 
My  hope,  that  clung  so  lonclly  to  tne  world 
And  the  rewards  of  fame,  an  anchor  sure, 
Now  grasps  the  Eternal  Rock  within  the  veil 
Of  troubled  waters.     Storms  may  wrench  and  toss, 
And  tides  may  swing  me,  in  their  ebb  and  flow, 
But  I  shall  not  be  moved. 

Once  more  !  once  more  1 
I  shall  behold  her  face,  and  clasp  her  hand  ! 
Once  more — foreverniorc  ! 

So  here  I  givo 


278  KATIIR1NA. 

The  gospel  of  her  precious  Christian  life. 

I  owe  it  to  herself,  and  to  the  world. 

Grateful  for  all  her  tender  ministry 

In  life  and  death,  I  bring  these  leaves,  entwined 

With  her  own  roses,  dewy  with  my  tears, 

And  lay  them  as  the  tribute  of  my  love 

Upon  the  grave  that  holds  her  sacred  dust. 


END  OF  KATHKINA. 


THE  MARBLE  PROPHECY, 


AND    OTHER    POEMS. 


THE  MARBLE  PROPHECY, 


THE  harlequins  are  out  in  force  to-day — 
The  piebald  Swiss — and  in  the  vestibule 
Of  great  St.  Peter's  rings  the  rhythmic  tread 
Of  Roman  nobles,  uniformed  and  armed 

As  the  Pope's  Guard  ;  and  while  their  double  line 

-i 
With  faultless  curve  enters  the  open  door, 

And  SAvays  and  sparkles  up  the  splendid  nave, 

Between  the  walls  of  humbler  soldiery, 

And  parts  to  pass  the  altar — keeping  step 

To  the  proud  beating  of  their  Roman  hearts — 

A  breeze  of  whispered  admiration  sweeps 

The  crowds  that  gaze,  and  dies  within  the  dome. 

St.  Peter's  toe  (the  stump  of  it)  was  cold 


2  THE   MARBLE   PROPHECY. 

An  hour  ago,  but  waxes  warm  apace 

With  rub  of  handkerchiefs,  and  dainty  touch 

Of  lips  and  foreheads. 

Smug  behind  their  screen 

Sit  the  Pope's  Choir.     No  woman  enters  there  ; 
For  woman  is  impure,  and  makes  impure 
By  voice  and  presence  !    Mary,  mother  of  God  ! 
Not  thy  own  sex  may  sing  thee  in  the  courts 
Of  The  All-Holy  !     Only  man,  pure  man  ! 
Doubt  not  the  purity  of  some  of  these — 
Angels  before  their  time — no  doubt 
That  they  will  sing  like  angels,  when  Papa, 
Borne  on  the  shoulders  of  his  stalwart  men 
(The  master  rode  an  ass),  and  canopied 
By  golden  tapestries — the  triple  crown 
Upon  his  brow,  the  nodding  peacock  plumes 
Far  heralding  his  way — shall  come  to  take 
His  incense  and  his  homage. 

I  will  go. 
Tis  a  brave  pageant,  to  be  seen  just  once. 


THE  MAEBLE  PROPHECY.  3 

Tis  a  brave  pageant,  but  one  does  not  like 
To  smutch  his  trousers  kneeling  to  a  man, 
Or  bide  the  stare  that  follows  if  he  fail  : 
So,  having  seen  it  once,  one  needs  not  wait. 

What  is  the  feast  ?    Let's  see  :  ah  !    I  recall : 

St.  Peter's  chair  was  brought  from  Antioch 

So  many  years  ago  ; — the  worse  for  wear 

No  doubt,  and  never  quite  luxurious, 

But  valued  as  a  piece  of  furniture 

By  Borne  above  all  price  ;  and  so  they  give 

High  honor  to  the  anniversary. 

'Tis  well ;  in  Borne  they  make  account  of  chairs. 

If  less  in  heaven,  it  possibly  may  bo 

Because  they're  greatly  occupied  by  joy 

Over  bad  men  made  penitent  and  pure 

By  this  same  chair  !     Who  knows  ? 

I'll  to  the  door  ! 

The  sun  seems  kind  and  simple  in  the  sky 
*  A.f ter  such  pomp.     I  thank  thee,  Sun  !     Thou  hast 
A  smile  like  God,  that  reaches  to  the  heart 


4  THE  MARBLE  PROPHECY. 

Direct  and  sweet,  without  the  ministries 

Of  scene  and  ceremonial !     Thy  rays 

Fall  not  in  benediction  at  the  ends 

Of  two  pale  fingers  ;  but  thy  warmth  and  light 

Wrap  well  the  cold  dark  world.     I  need  no  prism 

To  teach  my  soul  that  thou  art  beautiful  : 

It  would  divide  thee,  and  confuse  my  sight. 

Shine  freely,  sun  !    No  mighty  mother  church 

Stands  mediator  between  thee  and  me  ! 

Ay,  shine  on  these — all  these  in  shivering  need — 

To  whom  God's  precious  love  is  doled  or  sold 

By  sacerdotal  hucksters  !     Shine  on  these, 

And  teach  them  that  the  God  of  Life  and  Light 

Dwells  not  alone  in  temples  made  by  hands  ; 

And  that  the  path  to  Him,  from  every  soul, 

In  every  farthest  corner  of  the  earth, 

Is  as  direct  as  are  thy  rays  to  thee  ! 

Ha  !    Pardon  !    Have  I  hurt  you  ?    Welladay  1 

1  was  not  looking  for  a  beggar  here  : — 

Indeed,  was  looking  upward  !     But  I  see 

You're  here  by  royal  license — with  a  badge 

Made  of  good  brass.     Come  nearer  to  me  !  there  : 


THE   MARBLE    PROPHECY.  5 

Take  double  alms,  arid  give  me  chance  to  read 
Tlia   number  on    your    breast.     So  :     "  Seventy- 
seven  !" 

'Tis  a  good  number,  man,  and  quite  at  home 
About  the  temple.     Well,  you  have  hard  fare, 
But  many  brothers  and  no  end  of  shows  ! 
Think  it  not  ill  that  they  will  spend  to-day, 
Touching  this  chair,  enough  of  time  and  gold 
To  gorge  the  poor  of  Rome.     The  men  Avho  hold 
The    church    in    charge — who    are,    indeed,    the 

Church — 

Have  little  time  to  give  to  starving  men. 
Be  thankful  for  your  label  !     Only  one 
Can  be  the  beggar  "Number  seventy-seven  !" 
They  are  distinguished  persons  :  so  are  you  ! 
You  must  be  patient,  though  it  seems,  I  grant, 
A  trifle  odd  that  when  a  miracle 
Is  wrought  before  you,  it  will  never  take 
A  useful  turn,  as  in  the  olden  time, 
And  give  you  loaves  and  fishes,  or  increase 
Your  little  dinners  I 


6  THE  MARBLE   PROPHECY, 

Still  the  expectant  crowdb 
Press  up  the  street  from  round  St.  Angelo, 
And  thread  the  circling  colonnade,  or  cross 
With  hurried  steps  the  broad  piazza — crowds 
That  pass  the  portal,  and  at  once  are  lost 
Within  the  vaulted  glooms,  as  morning  mist 
Is  quenched  by  morning  air. 

It  is  God's  house— 

The  noblest  temple  ever  reared  to  Him 
By  hands  of  men — the  culminating  deed 
Of  a  great  church — the  topmost  reach  of  art 
For  the  enshrinement  of  the  Christian  faith 
In  sign  and  symbol.     Holiness  becomes 
The  temple  of  the  Holy  ! 

And  these  crowds  ? 

Come  they  to  pour  the  worship  of  their  hearts 
Like  wine  upon  the  altar  ?    Who  are  they  ? 
Last  night,  we  hear,  the  theatre  was  full. 
It  was  a  spectacle  :  they  went  to  see. 
All  yesterday  they  thronged  the  galleries, 


THE  MARBLE  PROPHCY. 

Or  roved  among  the  ruins,  or  drove  out 

Upon  the  broad  cainpagna — just  to  see. 

This  afternoon,  with  gaudy  equipage, 

(Their  Baedeker  and  Murray  left  at  home,) 

They'll  be  upon  the  Pincio — to  see. 

And  so  this  morning,  learning  of  the  chair 

And  the  Pope's  coming,  they  are  here  to  see 

(The  men  in  swallow-tails,  their  wives  in  black,) 

The  grandest  spectacle  of  all  the  week. 

Make  way  ye  men  of  poverty  and  dirt 

Who  fringe  the  outer  lines  !    Make  open-way 

And  let  them  pass  !     This  is  the  House  of  God, 

And  swallow-tails  are  of  fine  moment  here  ! 

The  ceremony  has  begun  within. 

I  hear  the  far,  faint  voices  of  the  choir, 

As  if  a  door  in  heaven  were  left  ajar, 

And  cherubim  wei'e  singing ....  Now  I  hear 

The  sharp,  metallic  chink  of  grounded  arms 

Upon  the  marble,  as  His  Holiness 

Moves  up  the  lines  of  bristling  bayonets 

That  guard  his  progress .  . , ,  But  I  stay  alone. 


8  THE  MARBLE  PEOPREGY. 

Nay,  I  will  to  the  Vatican,  and  there, 
In  converse  with  the  thoughts  of  manlier  men, 
Pass  the  great  morning  !     I  shall  be  alone — 
Ay,  all  alone  with  thee,  Laocoon  ! 

"  A  feast  day  and  no  entrance  ?"     Can  one's  gold 

Unloose  a  soul  from  purgatorial  bonds 

And  ope  the  gates  of  heaven,  without  the  power 

To  draw  a  bolt  at  the  Museum  ?    Wait  ! 

Laocoon  !  thou  great  embodiment 

Of  human  life  and  human  history  ! 

Thou  record  of  the  past,  thou  prophecy 

Of  the  sad  future,  thou  majestic  voice, 

Pealing  along  the  ages  from  old  time  ! 

Thou  wail  of  agonized  humanity  ! 

There  lives  no  thought  in  marble  like  to  thee  ! 

Thou  hast  no  kindred  in  the  Vatican, 

But  standest  separate  among  the  dreams 

Of  old  mythologies — alone — alone  ! 

The  beautiful  Apollo  at  thy  side 

Is  but  a  marble  dream,  and  dreams  are  all 

The  gods  and  goddesses  and  fauns  and  fates 


THE  MARBLE  PROPHECY. 

That  populate  these  wondrous  halls  ;  but  thou, 

Standing  among  them,  liftest  up  thyself 

In  majesty  of  meaning,  till  they  sink 

Far  from  the  sight,  no  more  significant 

Than  the  poor  toys  of  children.     For  thou  art 

A  voice  from  out  the  world's  experience, 

Speaking  of  all  the  generations  past 

To  all  the  generations  yet  to  come 

Of  the  long  struggle,  the  sublime  despair, 

The  wild  and  weary  agony  of  man  ! 

Ay,  Adam  and  his  offspring,  in  the  toils 

Of  the  twin  serpents  Sin  and  Suffering, 

Thou  dost  impersonate  ;  and  as  I  gaze 

Upon  the  twining  monsters  that  enfold 

In  unrelaxing,  unrelenting  coils, 

Thy  awful  energies,  and  plant  their  fangs 

Deep  in  thy  quivering  flesh,  while  still  thy  might 

In  fierce  convulsion  foils  the  fateful  wrench 

That  would  destroy  thee,  I  am  overwhelmed 

With  a  strange  sympathy  of  kindred  pain, 

And  see  through  gathering  tears  the  tragedy, 


10  THE  MARBLE  PROPHECY. 

The  curse  and  conflict  of  a  ruined  race  ! 
Those  Rhodian  sculptors  were  gigantic  men, 
Whose  inspirations  came  from  other  source 
Than  their  religion,  though  they  chose  to  speak 
Through  its  familiar  language, — men  who  saw, 
And,  seeing  quite  divinely,  felt  how  weak 
To  cure  the  world's  great  wotj  were  all  the  powers 
Whose  reign  their  age  acknowledged.     So   they 

sat — 

The  immortal  three — and  pondered  long  and  well 
What  one  great  work  should  speak  the  truth  for 

them, — 

What  one  great  work  should  rise  and  testify 
That  they  had  found  the  topmost  fact  of  life, 
Above  the  reach  of  all  philosophies 
And  all  religions — every  scheme  of  man 
To  placate  or  dethrone.     That  fact  they  found, 
And  moulded  into  form.     The  silly  priest 
Whose  desecrations  of  the  altar  stirred 
The  vengeance  of  his  God,  and  summoned  forth 
The  wreathed  gorgons  of  the  slimy  deep 
To  crush  him  and  his  children,  was  the  word 


THE  MARBLE  PROPHECY.  11 

By  which  they  spoke  to  their  own  age  and  race, 

That  listened  aiid  applauded,  knowing  not 

t 
That  high  above  the  small  significance 

They  apprehended,  rose  the  grand  intent 
That  mourned  their  doom  and  breathed  a  world'a 
despair  1 

Be  sure  it  was  no  fable  that  inspired 

So  grand  an  utterance.     Perchance  some  leaf 

From  an  old  Hebrew  record  had  conveyed 

A  knowledge  of  the  genesis  of  man. 

Perchance  some  fine  conception  rose  in  them 

Of  unity  of  nature  and  of  race, 

Springing  from  one  beginning.     Nay,  perchance 

Some  vision  flashed  before,  their  thoughtful  eyes 

Inspired  by  God,  which  showed  the  mighty  man, 

Who,  unbegotten,  had  begot  a  race 

That  to  his  lot  was  linked  through  countless  time 

By  living  chains,  from  which  in  vain  it  strove 

To  wrest  its  tortured  limbs  and  leap  amain 

To  freedom  and  to  rest !    It  matters  not : 

The  double  word — the  fable  and  the  fact, 


12  THE  MARBLE  PROPHECY. 

The  childish  figment  and  the  mighty  truth, 
Are  blent  in  one.     The  first  was  for  a  day 
And  dying  Kome  ;  the  last  for  later  time 
And  all  mankind. 

These  sculptors  spoke  their  word 
And  then  they  died  ;  and  Home — imperial  Borne — 
The  mistress  of  the  world — debauched  by  blood 
And  foul  with  harlotries — fell  prone  at  length 
Among  the  trophies  of  her  crimes  and  slept. 
Down  toppling  one  by  one  her  helpless  gods 
Fell  to  the  earth,  and  hid  their  shattered  forms 
Within  the  dust  that  bore  them,  and  among 
The  ruined  shrines  and  crumbling  masonry 
Of  their  old  temples.     Still  this  wondrous  group, 
From  its  long  home  upon  the  Esquiline, 
Beheld  the  centuries  of  change,  and  stood, 
Impersonating  in  its  conscious  stone 
The  unavailing  struggle  to  crowd  back 
The  closing  folds  of  doom.     It  paused  to  hear 
A  strange  New  Name  proclaimed  among  the  streets, 
And  catch  the  dying  shrieks  of  martyred  men, 


THE  MARBLE  PROPHECY.  13 

And  see  the  light  of  hope  and  heroism 
Kindling  in  many  eyes  ;  and  then  it  fell ; 
And  in  the  ashes  of  an  empire  swathed 
Its  aching  sense,  and  hid  its  tortured  forms. 

The  old  life  went,  the  new  life  came  ;  and  Eomo 
'  That  slew  the  prophets  built  their  sepulchres, 
And  filled  her  heathen  temples  with  the  shrines 
Of  Christian  saints  whom  she  had  tossed  to  beasts, 
Or  crucified,  or  left  to  die  in  chains 
Within  her  dungeons.     Ay,  the  old  life  went 
But  canie  again.     The  primitive,  true  age — 
The  simple,  earnest  age — when  Jesus  Christ 
The  Crucified  was  only  known  and  preached, 
Struck  hands  with  paganism  and  passed  away. 
Rome  built  new  temples  and  installed  new  names  ; 
Set  up  her  graven  images,  and  gave 
To  Pope  and  priests  the  keeping  of  her  gods. 
Again  she  grasped  at  power  no  longer  hers 
By  right  of  Roman  prowess,  and  stretched  out 
Her  hand  upon  the  consciences  of  men. 
The  godlike  liberty  with  which  the  Christ 


14  THE  MARBLE  PROPHECY. 

Had  made  his  people  free  she  stole  from  them, 

And  bound  them  slaves  to  new  observances. 

Her  times,  her  days,  her  ceremonials 

Imposed  a  burden  grievous  to  be  borne, 

And  millions  groaned  beneath  it.     Nay,  she  grew 

The  vengeful  persecutor  of  the  free 

Who  would  not  bear  her  yoke,  and  bathed  her 

hands 

In  blood  as  sweet  as  ever  burst  from  hearts 
Torn  from  the  bosoms  of  the  early  saints 
Within  her  Coliseum.     She  assumed 
To  be  the  arbiter  of  destiny. 
Those  whom  she  bound  or  loosed  upon  the  earth, 
Were  bound  or  loosed  in  heaven  !    In  God's  own 

place, 

She  sat  as  God — supreme,  infallible  ! 
She  shut  the  door  of  knowledge  to  mankind, 
And  bound  the  Word  Divine.     She   sucked  the 

juice 

Of  all  prosperities  within  her  realms, 
Until  her  gaudy  temples  blazed  with  gold, 
And  from  a  thousand  altars  flashed  the  fire 


THE  MARBLE  PROPHECY.  15 

Of  priceless  gems.     To  win  her  countless  wealth 

She  sold  as  merchandise  the  gift  of  God. 

She  took  the  burden  which  the  cross  had  borne, 

And  bound  it  fast  to  scourged  and  writhing  loins 

In  thriftless  Penance,  till  her  devotees 

Fled  from  their  kind  to  find  the  boon  of  peace, 

And  died  in  banishment.     Beneath  her  sway, 

The  proud  old  Eomau  blood  grew  thin  and  mean 

Till  virtue  was  the  name  it  gave  to  fear, 

Till  heroism  and  brigandage  were  one, 

And  neither  slaves  nor  beggars  knew  their  shame  ! 

What  marvel  that  a  shadow  fell,  world-wide, 
And  brooded  o'er  the  ages  ?     Was  it  strange 
That  in  those  dim  and  drowsy  centuries, 
When  the  dumb  earth  had  ceased  to  quake  beneath 
The  sounding  wheels  of  progress,  and  the  life 
That  erst  had  flamed  so  high  had  sunk  so  low 
In  cold  monastic  glooms  and  forms  as  cold, 
The  buried  gods  should  listen  in  their  sleep 
And  dream  of  resurrection  ?     Was  it  strange 
That  listening  well  they  should  at  length  awake, 


16  TEE  MARBLE  PROPHEG*. 

And  struggle  from  their  pillows  ?    Was  it  strauge 

That  men  whose  vision  grovelled  should  perceive 

The  dust  in  motion,  and  with  rapture  greet 

Each  ancient  deity  with  loud  acclaim, 

As  if  he  brought  with  him  the  good  old  days 

Of  manly  art  and  poetry  and  power  ? 

Nay,  was  it  strange  that  as  they  raised  themselves, 

And  cleaned  their  drowsy  eyelids  of  the  dust, 

And  took  their  godlike  attitudes  again, 

The  grand   old  forms  should  feel   themselves  at 

home — 

Saving  perhaps  a  painful  sense  that  men 
Had  dwindled  somewhat  ?     Was  it  strange,  at  last, 
That  all  these  gods  should  be  installed  anew, 
And  share  the  palace  with  His  Holiness, 
And  that  the  Pope  and  Christian  Borne  can  show 
No  art  that  equals  that  which  had  its  birth 
In  pagan  inspiration  ?     Ah,  what  shame  ! 
That  after  two  millenniums  of  Christ, 
Ivouie  calls  to  her  the  thirsty  tribes  of  earth, 
And  smites  the  heathen  marble  with  her  rod, 
And  bids  them  diiuk  the  best  she  has  to  give  ! 


THE  MARBLE   PROPHECY.  17 

And  when  the  gods  were  on  their  feet  again 
It  was  thy  time  to  rise,  Laocoou  ! 
Those  Rhodian  sculptors  had  f orseen  it  all. 
Their  word  was  true  :  thou  hadst  the  right  to  live 

In  the  quick  sunlight  on  the  Esquiline, 
Where  thou  didst  sleep,  De  Fredis  kept  his  vines  ; 
And  long  above  thee  grew  the  grapes  whose  blood 
Ran  wild  in  Christian  arteries,  and  fed 
The  fire  of  Christian  revels.     Ah  what  fruit 
•Sucked  up  the  marrow  of  thy  marble  there  1 
What  fierce,  mad  dreams  were  those  that  scared  the 

souls 

O  men  who  drank,  nor  guessed  what  ichor  stung 
Their  crimson  lips,  and  tingled  in  their  veins  1 
Strange  growths  were  those  that  sprang  above  thy 

sleep  : 

Vines  that  were  serpents ;  huge  and  ugly  trunks 
That  took  the  forms  of  human  agony — 
Contorted,  gnarled  and  grim. — and  leaves  that  bore 
The  semblance  of  a  thousand  tortured  hands, 
And  snaky  tendrils  that  entwined  themselves 


18  THE  MARBLE  PROPHECY. 

Around  all  forms  of  life  within  their  reach, 
And  crushed  or  blighted  them  ! 


At  last  the  spade 

Slid  down  to  find  the  secret  of  the  vines, 
And  touched  thee  with  a  thrill  that  startled  Borne, 
And  swiftly  called  a  shouting  multitude 
To  witness  thy  unveiling. 

Ah  what  joy 

Greeted  the  rising  from  thy  long  repose  ! 
And  one,  the  mighty  master  of  his  time, 
The  King  of  Christian  art,  with  strong  sad  face 
Looked  on,  and  wondered  with  the  giddy  crowd, — • 
Looked  on  and  learned  (too  late,  alas,  !  for  him), 
That  his  humanity  and  God's  own  truth, 
Were  more  than  Christian  Rome,  and  spoke  in 

words 

Of  larger  import.     Humbled  Angelo 
Bowed  to  the  masters  of  the  early  days, 
Grasped  their  strong  hands  across  the  centuries, 
And  went  his  way  despairing  ! 


THE  MARBLE  PROPHECY.  19 

Thou,  meantime, 

Did'st  find  thyself  installed  among  the  gods 
Here  in  the  Vatican  ;  and  thou,  to-day, 
Hast  the  same  word  for  those  who  read  thee  well 
As  when  thou  wast  created.     Borne  has  failed  : 
Humanity  is  writhing  in  the  toils 
Of  the  old  monsters  as  it  writhed  of  old, 
And  there  is  neither  help  nor  hope  in  her. 
Her  priests,  her  shrines,  her  rites,  her  mummeries, 
Her  pictures  and  her  pageants,  are  as  weak 
To  break  the  hold  of  Sin  and  Suffering 
As  those  her  reign  displaced.     Her  iron  hand 
Shrivels  the  manhood  it  presumes  to  bless, 
Drives  to  disgust  or  infidelity 
The  strong  and  free  who  dare  to  think  and  judge, 
And  wins  a  kiss  from  coward  lips  alone. 
She  does  not  preach  the  Gospel  to  the  poor, 
But  takes  it  from   their  hands.     The  men  who 

tread 

The  footsteps  of  the  Master,  and  bow  down 
Aloue  to  Him,  she  brands  as  heretics 
Or  hunts  as  fiends.     She  drives  beyond  her  gates 


20  THE  MARBLE  PROPHEOY. 

The  Christian  worshippers  of  other  climes, 
And  other  folds  and  faiths,  as  if  their  brows 
Were  white  with  leprosy,  and  grants  them  there 
With  haughty  scorn  the  priviledge  to  kneel 
In  humble  worship  of  the  common  Lord  1 

Is  this  the  Christ,  or  look  we  still  for  him  ? 

Is  the  old  problem  solved,  or  lingers  yet 

The  grant  solution  ?    Ay  Laocoon  ! 

Thy  word  is  true,  for  Christian  Borne  has  failed  ; 

And  I  behold  humanity  in  thee 

As  those  who  shaped  thee  saw  it,  when  old  Rome 

In  that  far  pagan  evening  fell  asleep. 


MISCELLANEOUS 
PIECES. 


THE    WINGS. 

A  FEEBLE  wail  was  heard  at  night, 

And  a  stifled  cry  of  joy  ; 
And  when  the  morn  broke  cool  and  light, 
They  bore  to  the  mother's  tearful  sight 

A  fair  and  lovely  boy. 

Months  passed  away  ; 
And  day  by  day 

The  mother  hung  about  her  child 
As  in  his  little  cot  he  lay, 

And  watched  him  as  he  smiled, 
And  threw  his  hands  into  the  air, 

And  turned  above  his  large,  bright  eyes, 
With  an  expression  half  of  prayer 
And  half  of  strange  surprise  ; 


24  THE    WINGS. 

For  hovering  o'er  his  downy  head 
A  dainty  vision  hung. 

Fluttering,  swaying, 
Unsteadily  it  swung, 

As  if  suspended  by  a  thread, 
His  own  sweet  breath  obeying. 

Sometimes  with  look  of  wild  beseeching 

He  marked  it  as  it  dropped 
Almost  within  his  awkward  reaching, 
And  as  the  vision  stopped 
Beyond  his  anxious  grasp, 
And  cheated  the  quick  clasp 
Of  dimpled  hands,   and  quite 
Smothered  his  chirrup  of  delight, 
And  he  saw  his  effort  vain 
And  the  bright  vision  there  again 
Dancing  before  his  sight, 

His  eyes  grew  dim  with  tears, 
Till  o'er  the  flooded  spheres 
The  soothing  eyelids  crept, 
And  the  tired  infant  slept. 


THE  WINGS.  25 

He  saw — his  mother  could  not  see — 
A  presence  and  a  mystery  : 

Two  waving  wings, 
Spangled  with  silver,  starlike  things  : 

No  form  of  light  was  borne  between  ; 
Only  the  wings  were  seen  ! 

Years  steal  away  with  silent  feet, 

And  he,  the  little  one, 
With  brow  more  fair  and  voice  more  sweet 

Is  playing  in  the  sun. 
Flowers  are  around  him  and  the  songs 

Of  bounding  streams  and  happy  birds, 
But  sweeter  than  their  sweetest  tongues 
Break  forth  his  own  glad  words. 
And  as  he  sings 
The  wings,  the  wings  ! 
Before  him  still  they  fly  ! 
And  nothing  that  the  summer  brings 

Can  so  entice  his  eye. 
Hovering  here,  hovering  there, 
Hovering  everywhere, 


26  THE    WINGS. 

They  flash  and  shine  among  the  flowers, 
While  dripping  sheen  in  golden  showers 
Falls  through  the  air  where'er  they  hover 
Upon  the  radiant  things  they  cover. 
Hurrying  here,  hurrying  there, 

Hurrying  everywhere, 
He  plucks  the  flowers  they  shine  upon, 
But  while  he  plucks  their  light  is  gone  1 
And  casting  down  the  faded  things, 
Onward  he  springs 
To  follow  the  wings  ! 

Years  ran  away  with  silent  feet  ; 

The  boy,  to  manhood  grown, 
Within  a  shadowy  retreat 

Stands  anxious  and  alone. 
His  bosom  heaves  with  heavy  sighs, 

His  hair  hangs  damp  and  long, 
But  fiery  purpose  fills  his  eyes, 

And  his  limbs  are  large  and  strong  : 
And  there  above  a  gentle  hill, 
The  wings  are  hovering  still, 


THE    WINGS.  27 

Wliile  tlieir  soft  radiance,  rich  and  warm, 
Falls  on  a  maiden's  form. 


And  see  !  again  he  starts, 

And  onward  darts, 
Then  pauses  with  a  fierce  and  sudden  pain, 

Then  presses  on  again, 

Till  with  mixed  thoughts  of  rapture  and  de 
spair, 
He  kneels  before  her  there  : — 

With  hands  together  prest, 
He  prays  to  her  with  low  and  passionate  calls, 
And,  like  a  snow-flake  pure,  she  flutters,  falls, 

And  melts  upon  his  breast. 

Long  in  that  dearest  trance  he  hung — 
Then  raised  his  eyes  ;  the  wings  that  swung 
In  glancing  circles  round  his  head 

Afar  had  fled, 
And  wheeled,  with  calm  and  graceful  flight, 

Over  a  scene 


28  THE    WINGS. 

That  glowed  with  glories  beauteously  bright 
Beneath  their  sheen. 


High  in  the  midst  a  monument  arose, 
Of  pale  enduring  marble  :  calm  and  still, 

It  seemed  a  statue  of  sublime  repose, 
The  silent  speaker  of  a  mighty 


Its  sides  were  hung  around 
With  boughs  of  evergreen  ;  and  its  long  shaft 

was  crowned 

With  a  bright  laurel  wreath, 
And  glittering  beneath 
Were  piled  great  heaps   of  gold  upon   the 

ground. 
Children  were  playing   near — fair  boys   and 

girls, 

Who  shook  their  sunny  curls, 
And    laughed  and  sang  in    rnirthfulness  of 

spirit, 
And  in  their  childish  pleasures 


TEE    WINGS.  29 

Danced  around  the  treasures 
Of  gold  and  honor  they  were  to  inherit. 


The  sight  has  fired  his  brain  ; 
Onward  he  springs  again. 

O'er  ruined  blocks 
Of  wild  and  perilous  rocks, 
Through  long  damp  caves,  o'er  pitfalls  dire, 
And  maddening  scenes  of  blood  and  fire, 
Fainting  with  heat, 
Benumbed  with  cold, 
•  With  weary,  aching  feet, 
He  sternly  toils,  and  presses  on  to  greet 
The  monument,  the  laurels  and  the  gold. 

Years  have  passed  by  ;  a  shattered  form 
Leans  faintly  on  a  monument  ; 
His  glazing  eyes  are  bent 
In  sadness  down  :  a  tear  falls  to  the  ground 
That  through  the  furrows  of  his  cheek  liath 
wound. 


30  THE    WING3. 

The  children  beautiful  have  ceased  to  play, 
Tarnished  the  marble  stands  with  dark  de 
cay, 

The  laurels  all  are  dead,  and  flown  the  gold 
away. 

Once  more  he  raised  his  eyes ;  before  him 

lay 

A  dim  and  lonely  vale, 
And  feebly  tottering  in  the  downward  way 

Walked  spectres  cold  and  pale. 
And    darkling    groves    of   shadowy   cypress 

sprung 
Among  the  damp   clouds   that  around  them 

hung. 
One  vision  only  cheers  his  aching  sight ; 

Those  wings  of  light 
Have  lost  their  varied  hues  and  changed  to 

white, 
And,  with  a  gentle  motion,  slowly  w#ve 

Over  a  new-made  grave. 
He  casts  one  faltering,  farewell  look  behind, 


THE    WINGS.  31 

Around,  above,  one  mournful  glance  he  throws, 
Then  with  a    cheerful    smile,   and    trusting 

mind, 

Moves  feebly  toward  the  valley  of  repose. 
He  stands  above  the  grave  ;  dull  shudders 

creep 

Along  his  limbs,  cold  drops  are  on  his  brow  ; 
One  sigh  he  heaves,  and  sinking  into  sleep 
He  drops  and  disappears  ; — and  dropping  now, 

The  wings  have  followed  too. 
But,  lo  !  new  visions  burst  upon  the  view  ! 
They  reappear  in  glory  bright  and  new  ! 
And  to  their  sweet  embrace  a  soul  is  given, 
And   on    the    wings    of    HOI-E    an  angel  fliea  to 
HEAVEN 


INTIMATIONS. 

WHAT  glory  then  !     What  darkness  now  ! 

A  glimpse,  a  thrill,  and  it  is  flown  ! 

I  reach,  I  grasp,  but  stand  alone, 
With  empty  arms  and  upward  brow  1 

Ye  may  not  see,  O  weary  eyes  ! 

The  band  of  angels,  swift  and  bright, 
That  pass,  but  cannot  wake  your  sight, 

Down  trooping  from  the  crowded  skies. 

O  heavy  ears  !     Ye  may  not  hear 

The  strains  that  pass  my  conscious  soul, 
And  seek,  but  find  no  earthly  goal, 

Far  falling  from  another  sphere. 

Ah  !  soul  of  mine  !     Ah  !  soul  of  mine  ! 
Thy  sluggish  senses  are  but  bars 


INTIMATIONS.  33 

That  stand  between  thee  and  the  stars, 
And  shut  thee  from  the  world  divine. 

For  something  sweeter  far  than  sound, 
And  something  finer  than  the  light 
Comes  through  the  discord  and  the  night 

And  penetrates,  or  wraps  thee  round. 

Nay,  God  is  here,  couldst  thou  but  see  ; 

All  things  of  beauty  are  of  Him  ; 

And  heaven  that  holds  the  cherubim, 
As  lovingly  embraces  thee  ! 

If  thou  hast  apprehended  well 

The  tender  glory  of  a  flower, 

Which  moved  thee  by  some  subtle  power 
Whose  source  and  sway  thou  couldst  not  tell  ; 

If  thou  hast  kindled  to  the  sweep 
Of  stormy  clouds  across  the  sky, 
Or  gazed  with  tranced  and  tearful  eye, 

And  swelling  breast  upon  the  deep  ; 


34  INTIMATIONS. 

If  tliou  hast  felt  the  throb  and  thrill 

Of  early  day  and  happy  birds, 

While  peace,  that  drowned  thy  chosen  words 
Has  flowed  from  thee  in  glad  good-will, 

Then  hast  thou  drunk  the  heavenly  dew  ; 
Then  have  thy  feet  in  rapture  trod 
The  pathway  of  a  thought  of  God  ; 

And  death  can  show  thee  nothing  new. 

For  heaven  and  beauty  are  the  same, — 
Of  God  the  all-informing  thought, 
To  sweet,  supreme  expression  wrought, 

And  syllabled  by  sound  and  flame. 

The  light  that  beams  from  childhood's  eyes, 
The  charm  that  dwells  in  summer  woods, 
The  holy  influence  that  broods 

O'er  all  things  under  twilight  skies, — 

The  music  of  the  simple  notes 
That  rise  from  happy  human  homes, 


INTIMATIONS.  35 

The  joy  in  life  of  all  that  roams 
Upon  the  earth,  and  all  that  floats, 

Proclaim  that  heaven's  sweet  providence 
Enwraps  the  homely  earth  in  whole, 
And  finds  the  secret  of  the  soul 

Through  channels  subtler  than  the  sense. 

O  soul  of  mine  !     Throw  wide  thy  door, 
And  cleanse  thy  paths  from  doubt  and  sin  ; 
And  the  bright  flood  shall  enter  in 

And  give  thee  heaven  forevermore  ! 


WORDS. 

THE  robi  n  repeats  liis  two  musical  words, 
The  meadow-lark  whistles  his  one  refrain  ; 
And  steadily,  over  and  over  again, 

The  same  song  swells  from  a  hundred  birds. 

Bobolink,  chickadee,  blackbird,  and  jay, 

Thrasher  and  woodpecker,  cuckoo  and  wren, 
Each  sings  its  word,  or  its  phrase,  and  then 

It  has  nothing  further  to  sing  or  to  say. 

Into  that  word,  or  that  SAveet  little  phrase, 
All  there  may  be  of  its  life  must  crowd  ; 

And  lulling  and  liquid,  or  hoarse  and  loud, 
It  breathes  out  its  burden  of  joy  and  praise. 

A  little  child  sits  in  his  father's  door, 

Chatting  and  singing  with  careless  tongue  ; 


WORDS.  37 

A  thousand  beautiful  words  are  sung, 
Ajid  he  holds  unuttered  a  thousand  more. 

Words  measure  power  ;  and  they  measure  thine; 
Greater  art  thou  in  thy  prattling  moods 
Than  all  the  singers  of  all  the  woods  ; 

They  are  brutes  only,  but  thou  art  divine. 

Words  measure  destiny.     Power  to  declare 
Infinite  ranges  of  passion  and  thought 
Holds  with  the  infinite  only  its  lot, — 

Is  of  eternity  only  the  heir. 

Words  measure  life,  and  they  measure  its  joy  ! 
Thou  hast  more  joy  in  thy  childish  years 
Than  the  birds  of  a  hundred  tuneful  spheres, 

So — sing  with  the  beautiful  birds,  my  boy  ! 


I  SOFTLY  sink  into  the  bath  of  sleep  : 
With  eyelids  shut,  I  see  around  ine  close 

The  mottled,  violet  vapors  of  the  deep, 
That  wraps  me  in  repose. 

I  float  all  night  in  the  ethereal  .sea 

That  drowns  my  pain  and  weariness  in  balm, 
Careless  of  where  its  currents  carry  me, 

Or  settle  into  calm. 

That  which  the  ear  can  hear  is  silent  all  ; 

But,  in  the  lower  stillness  which  I  reach, 
Soft  whispers  call  me,  like  the  distant  fall 

Of  waves  upon  the  beach. 

Now  like  the  mother  who  with  patient  care, 
Has  soothed  to  rest  her  faiut,  o'er-wearied  boy, 


SLEEPING    AND    DREAMING.  39 

My  spirit  leaves  the  couch,  and  seeks  the  air 
For  freedom  and  for  joy. 

Drunk  up  like  vapors  by  the  morning  sun 
The  past  and  future  rise  and  disappear  ; 

And  times  and  spaces  gather  home,  and  run 
Into  a  common  sphere. 

My  youth  is  round  me,  and  the  silent  tomb 
Has  burst  to  set  its  fairest  prisoner  free, 

And  I  await  her  in  the  dewy  gloom 
Of  the  old  trysting  tree. 

I  mark  the  flutter  of  her  snowy  dress, 
I  hear  the  tripping  of  her  fairy  feet, 

And  now,  pressed  closely  in  a  pure  caress, 
With  ardent  joy  we  meet. 

I  tell  again  the  story  of  my  love, 

I  drink  again  her  lip's  delicious  wine, 

And,  while  the  same  old  stars  look  down  above, 
Her  eyes  look  up  to  mine. 


40  SLEEPING    AND   DREAMING. 

I  dream  that  I  am  dreaming,  and  I  start ; 

Then   dream    that    nought    so    real    comes  in 

dreams ; 
Then  kiss  again  to  reassure  my  heart 

That  she  is  what  she  seems. 

Our  steps  tend  homeward.     Lingering  at  the  gate, 
I  breathe,  and  breathe   again,  my  fond  good 
night. 

She  shuts  the  cruel  door,  and  still  I  wait 
To  watch  her  window-light. 

I  see  the  shadow  of  her  dainty  head, 

On  curtains  that  I  pray  her  hand  may  stir, 

Till  all  is  dark  ;  and  then  I  seek  my  bed 
To  dream  I  dream  of  her. 

Like  the  swift    moon  that  slides  from  cloud   to 
cloud, 

With  only  hurried  space  to  smile  between, 
I  pierce  the  phantoms  that  around  me  crowd, 

And  glide  from  scene  to  scene. 


SLEEPING    AND   DREAMING.  41 

I  clasp  warm  hands  that  long  have  lain  in  dust, 
I  hear  sweet  voices  that  have  long  been  still, 

And  earth  and  sea  give  up  their  hallowed  trust 
In  answar  to  my  will. 


And  now,  high-gazing  toward  the  starry  dome, 
I  see  three  airy  forms  come  floating  down — 

The  long-lost  angels  of  my  early  home — 
My  night  of  joy  to  crown. 

They  pause  above,  beyond  my  eager  reach, 

With  arms  enwreathed  and  forms   of  heavenly 

grace  ; 

And  smiling  back  the  love  that  smiles  from  each , 
I  see  them,  face  to  face. 

They  breathe  no  language,  but  their  holy  eyes 
Beam  an  embodied  blessing  on  my  heart, 

'.That  warm  within  my  trustful  bosom  lies, 
And  never  will  depart. 


42  SLEEPING   AND    DREAMING. 

I  drink  the  effluence,  till  through  all  my  soul 
I  feel  a  flood  of  peaceful  rapture  flow, 

That  swells  to  joy  at  last,  and  bursts  control, 
And  I  awake  ;  but  lo  ! 

With  eyelids  shut,  I  hold  the  vision  fast, 
And  still  detain  it  by  my  ardent  prayer, 

Till  faint  and  fainter  grown,  it  fades  at  last 
Into  the  silent  air. 

My  God  !    I  thank  Thee  for  the  bath  of  sleep, 
That  wraps  in  balm  my  weary  heart  and  brain, 

And  drowns  within  its  waters  still  and  deep 
My  sorrow  and  my  pain. 

I  thank  Thee  for  my  dreams,  which  loose  the  bond 
That  binds  my  spirit  to  its  daily  load, 

And  give  it  angel  wings,  to  fly  beyond 
Its  slumber-bound  abode. 

I  thank  Thee  for  these  glimpses  of  the  clime 
That  lies  beyond  the  boundaries  of  sense, 


SLEEPING  AND    DREAMING.  43 

Where  I  shall  wash  away  the  stains  of  time 
In  floods  of  recompense  : — 

Where,  when  this  body  sleeps  to  wake  no  more, 
My  soul  shall  rise  to  everlasting  dreams, 

And  find  unreal  all  it  saw  before 
And  real  all  that  seems. 


ON    THE    RIGHI. 

ON  the  Righi  Kulm  we  stood, 

Lovely  Floribel  and  I, 
While  the  morning's  crimson  flood 

Streamed  along  the  eastern  sky. 
Reddened  eveiy  mountain  peak 

Into  rose,  from  twilight  dun  ; 
But  the  blush  upon  her  cheek 

Was  not  lighted  by  the  sun  I 

On  the  Eighi  Kulm  we  sat, 
Lovely  Floribel  and  I, 

Plucking  blue-bells  for  her  hat 

\ 

From  a  mound  that  blossomed  nigh,  » 
"We  are  near  to  heaven,"  she  sighed, 

While  her  raven  lashes  fell. 
"  Nearer,"  softly  I  replied, 

"  Than  the  mountain's  height  may  tell." 


ON   THE  RIQHI.  45 

Down  the  Bighi's  side  we  sped, 

Lovely  Floribel  and  I, 
But  her  morning  blush  had  fled, 

And  the  blue-bells  all  were  dry. 
Of  the  height  the  dream  was  born  ; 

Of  the  lower  air  it  died ; 
And  the  passicn  of  the  morn 

Flagged  and  fell  at  eventide. 

From  the  breast  of  blue  Lucerne, 

Lovely  Floribel  and  I 
Saw  the  brand  of  sunset  burn 

On  the  Eighi  Kulm,  and  die. 
And  we  wondered,  gazing  thus, 

If  our  dream  would  still  remain 
On  the  height,  and  wait  for  us 

Till  we  climb  to  heavon  again  ! 


GRADATIM. 

HEAVEN  is  not  reached  at  a  single  bound  ; 

But  we  build  the  ladder  by  which  we  rise  ; 

From  the  lowly  earth  to  the  vaulted  skies, 
And  we  mount  to  its  summit  round  by  round. 

I  count  this  thing  to  be  grandly  true  : 

That  a  noble  deed  is  a  step  toward  God,  — 
Lifting  the  soul  from  the  common  clod 

To  a  purer  air  and  a  broader  view. 

We  rise  by  the  things  that  are  under  feet  ; 

By  what  we  have  mastered  of  good  and  gain  ; 

By  the  pride  deposed  and  the  passion  slain, 
And  the  vanquished  ills  that  we  hourly  meet. 

.We  hope,  we  aspire,  we  resolve,  we  trust, 
When  the  morning  calls  us  to  life  and  light, 


GEADATIM.  47 

But  our  hearts  grow  weary,  and,  ere  the  night, 
Our  lives  are  trailing  the  sordid  dust. 

We  hope,  we  resolve,  we  aspire,  we  pray, 
And  we  think  that  we  mount  the  air  on  wings 
Beyond  the  recall  of  sensual  things, 

While  our  feet  still  cling  to  the  heavy  clay. 

Wings  for  the  angels,  but  feet  for  men  ! 
We  may  barrow  the  wings  to  find  the  way — 
We  may  hope,  and  resolve,  and  aspire,  and  pray; 

But  our  feet  must  rise,  or  we  fall  again. 

Only  in  dreams  is  a  ladder  thrown 
From  the  -weary  earth  to  the  sapphire  walls  ; 
But  the  dreams  depart  and  the  vision  falls, 

And  the  sleeper  wakes  on  his  pillow  of  stone. 

Heaven  is  not  reached  at  a  single  bound  ; 
But  we  build  the  ladder  by  which  we  rise 
From  the  lowly  earth  to  the  vaulted  skies, 

And  we  mount  to  its  summit,  round  by  round. 


RETURNING-    CLOUDS. 

THE  clouds  are  returning  after  the  rain. 

All  the  long  morning  they  steadily  sweep 
From  the  blue  Northwest,  o'er  the  upper  main, 

In  a  peaceful  flight  to  their  Eastern  sleep. 

With  sails  that  the  cool  wind  fills  or  furls, 
And  shadows  that  darken  the  billowy  grass, 

Freighted  with  amber  or  piled  with  pearls, 
Fleets  of  fair  argosies  rise  and  pass. 

The  earth  smiles  back  to  the  smiling  throng 
From,  greening  pasture  and  blooming  field, 
For  the   earth  that   had   sickened   with  thirst  so 

long, 

Has  been  touched  by  the   hand  of  The  Kain, 
and  healed. 


RETURNING   CLOUDS.  49 

The  old  man  sits  'neatli  the  tall  elin  trees, 
And  watches  the  pageant  with  dreamy  eyes, 

While  his  white  locks  stir  to  the  same  cool  breeze 
That  scatters  the  silver  along  the  skies. 

The  old  man's  eyelids  are  wet  with  tears — 
Tears  of  sweet  pleasure  and  sweeter  pain — 

For  his  thoughts  are  driving  back  over  the  years 
In  beautiful  clouds  after  life's  long  rain. 

Sorrows  that  drowned  all  the  springs  of  his  life, 
Trials  that  crushed  him  with  pitiless  beat, 

Storms  of  temptation  and  tempests  of  strife, 
Float  o'er  his  memory  tranquil  and  sweet. 

And  the  old  man's  spirit,  made  soft  and  bright 
By  the  long,  long  rain  that  had  bent  him  low, 

Sees  a  vision  of  angels  on  wings  of  white, 
IE.  the  trooping  clouds  as  they  come  and  goc 


EUREKA. 

WHOM  I  crown  with  love  is  royal ; 

Matters  not  her  blood  or  birth  ; 
She  is  queen,  and  I  am  loyal 

To  the  noblest  of  the  earth. 

Neither  place,  nor  wealth,  nor  title. 

Lacks  the  man  my  friendship  owns  ; 
His  distinction,  true  and  vital, 

Shines  supreme  o'er  crowns  and  thrones. 

Where  true  love  bestows  its  sweetness, 
Where  true  friendship  lays  its  hand, 

Dwells  all  greatness,  all  completeness, 
All  the  wealth  of  every  land. 

Man  is  greater  than  condition, 
And  where  man  himself  bestows, 


EUREKA.  51 

He  begets,  and  gives  position 
To  the  gentlest  that  he  knows. 

Neither  miracle  nor  fable 

Is  the  water  changed  to  wine  ; 
Lords  and  ladies  at  rny  table 

Prove  Love's  simplest  fare  divine. 

And  if  these  accept  my  duty, 

If  the  loved  my  homage  own, 
I  have  won  all  worth  and  beauty  ; 

I  have  found  the  magic  stone. 


WHERE  SHALL    THE   BABY1 8 
DIMPLE  BE? 

OVER  the  cradle  the  mother  hung, 

Softly  crooning  a  sluniber-song  ; 
And  these  were  the  simple  words  she  sung 

All  the  evening  long  : 

"  Cheek  or  chin,  or  knuckle  or  knee, 
Where  shall  the  baby's  dimple  be  ? 
Where  shall  the  angel's  finger  rest 
When  he  comes  down  to  the  baby's  nest  ? 
Where  shall  the  angel's  touch  remain 
When  he  awakens  my  babe  again  ?" 

Still  as  she  bent  and  sang  so  low, 

A  murmur  into  her  music  broke  ; 
And  she  paused  to  hear,  for  she  could  but  know 

The  baby's  angel  spoke. 


BABY'S   DIMPLE.  53 

"  Cheek  or  chin,  or  knuckle  or  knee, 
Where  shall  the  baby's  dimple  be  ? 
Where  shall  my  finger  fall  and  rest 
When  I  come  down  to  the  baby's  nest  ? 
Where  shall  my  finger's  touch  remain 
When  I  awaken  your  babe  again  ?" 

Silent  the  mother  sat,  and  dwelt 
Long  in  the  sweet  delay  of  choice  ; 

And  then  by  her  baby's  side  she  knelt, 
And  sang  with  pleasant  voice  : 

"Not  on  the  limb,  O  angel  dear  ! 

For  the  charm  with  its  youth  will  disappear  ; 

Not  on  the  cheek  shall  the  dimple  be, 

For  the  harboring  smile  will  fade  and  flee  ; 

But  touch  thou  the  chin  with  an  impress  deep, 

And  my  baby  the  angel's  seal  shall  keep." 


TEE  HEART  OF  THE    WAR. 

(1864) 

PEACE  in  the  clover-scented  air, 

And  stars  within  the  dome  ; 
And  underneath,  in  dirn  repose, 

A  plain,  New  England  home. 
Within,  a  murmur  of  low  tones 

And  sighs  from  hearts  oppressed, 
Merging  in  prayer,  at  last,  that  brings 

The  balm  of  silent  rest. 


I've  closed  a  hard  day's  work,  Marty, 
The  evening  chores  are  done  ; 

And  you  are  weary  with  the  house, 
And  with  the  little  one. 

But  he  is  sleeping  sweetly  now, 
With  all  our  pretty  brood  ; 


THE  HEART   OF   THE    WAR. 

So  come  and  sit  upon  my  knee, 
And  it  will  do  me  good. 


Oh,  Marty  !  I  must  tell  you  all 

The  trouble  in  my  heart, 
And  you  must  do  the  best  you  can 

To  take  and  bear  your  part. 
You've  seen  the  shadow  on  my  face  ; 

You've  felt  it  day  and  night  ; 
For  it  has  filled  our  little  home, 

And  banished  all  its  light. 


I  did  not  mean  it  should  be  so, 

And  yet  I  might  have  known 
That  hearts  which  live  as  close  as  ours 

Can  never  keep  their  own. 
But  we  are  fallen  on  evil  times, 

And  do  whate'er  I  may, 
My  heart  grows  sad  about  the  war, 

And  sadder  every  day. 


THE  HEART    OF    THE    WAR. 

I  tliink  about  it  when  I  work, 

And  wlien  I  try  to  rest, 
And  never  more  than  when  your  head 

Is  pillowed  on  my  breast ; 
For  then  I  see  the  camp-fires  blaze, 

And  sleeping  men  around, 
Who  turn  their  faces  toward  their  homes, 

And  dream  upon  the  ground. 

I  think  about  the  dear,  brave  boys, 

My  mates  in  other  years, 
Who  pine  for  home  and  those  they  love, 

Till  I  am  choked  with  tears. 
With  shouts  and   cheers  they  marched  away 

On  glory's  shining  track, 
But,  ah !  how  long,  how  long  they  stay  I 

How  few  of  them  come  back  ! 

One  sleeps  beside  the  Tennessee, 

And  one  beside  the  James, 
And  one  fought  on  a  gallant  ship 


THE  HEART    OF   THE    WAE.  57 

And  perished  in  its  flames. 
And  some,  struck  down  by  fell  disease, 

Are  breathing  out  their  life  ; 
And  others,  maimed  by  cruel  wounds, 

Have  left  the  deadly  strife. 

Ah,  Marty  !  Marty,  only  think 

Of  all  the  boys  have  done 
And  suffered  in  this  weary  war  ! 

Brave  heroes,  every  one  ! 
Oh  !  often,  often  in  the  night, 

I  hear  their  voices  call : 
"  Come  on  and  help  us.     Is  it  right 

That  we  should  bear  it  all  ?" 

And  when  I  kneel  and  try  to  pray, 

My  thoughts  are  never  free, 
But  cling  to  those  who  toil  and  fight 

And  die  for  you  and  me. 
And  when  I  pray  for  victory, 

It.  seems  almost  a  sin 


58  THE  HEART   OF   THE    WAR. 

To  fold  my  hands  and  ask  for  what 
I  will  not  help  to  win. 


Oh !  do  not  cling  to  me  and  cry, 

For  it  will  break  my  heart ; 
I'm  sure  you'd  rather  have  me  die 

Than  not  to  bear  my  part. 
You  think  that  some  should  stay  at  home 

To  care  for  those  away  ; 
But  still  I'm  helpless  to  decide 

If  I  should  go  or  stay. 


For,  Marty,  all  the  soldiers  lovo, 

And  all  are  loved  again  ; 
And  I  am  loved,  and  love,  perhaps, 

No  more  than  other  men. 
I  cannot  tell — I  do  not  know — 

Which  way  my  duty  lies, 
Or  where  the  Lord  would  have  me  build 

My  fire  of  sacrifice. 


THF  HEART    OF    THE    WAR.  59 

I  feel — I  know — I  am  not  mean  ; 

And,  though  I  seem  to  boast, 
I'm  sure  that  I  would  give  my  life 

To  those  who  need  it  most. 
Perhaps  the  Spirit  will  reveal 

That  which  is  fair  and  right ; 
So,  Marty,  let  us  humbly  kneel 

And  pray  to  Heaven  for  light. 


Peace  in  the  clover-scented  air, 

And  stars  within  the  dome  ; 
And  underneath,  in  dim  repose, 

A  plain,  New  England  home. 
Within,  a  widow  in  her  weeds, 

From  whom  all  joy  is  flown, 
Who  kneels  among  her  sleeping  babes, 

And  weeps  and  prays  alone  ! 


TO  A  SLEEPING  SINGER. 

LOVE  in  her  heart,  and  song  upon,  her  lip — 

A  daughter,  friend,  and  wife — 

She  lived  a  beauteous  life, 

And  love  and  song  shall  bless  her  in  her  sleep. 

The  flowers  whose  language  she  interpreted, 

The  delicate  airs,  calm  eves,  and  starry  skies 

That  touched  so  sweetly  her  chasto  sympathies, 

And  all  the  grieving  souls  she  comforted, 

Will  bathe  in  separate  sorrows  the  dear  mound, 

Where  heart  and  harp  lie  silent  and  profound. 

Oh,  Woman  !  all  the  songs  thou  left  to  us 

We  will  preserve  for  thee,  in  grateful  love  ; 

Give  thou  return  of  our  affection  thus, 

And  keep  for  us  the  songs  thou  singst  above  1 


SONG  AND  SILENCE. 

"  MY  Mabel,  you  once  had  a  bird 
In  your  throat ;  and  it  sang  all  the  day  I 
But  now  it  sings  never  a  word  : 
Has  the  bird  flown  away  ? 

"  Oh  sing  to  me,  Mabel,  again  ! 
Strike  the  chords  !    Let  the  old  fountain  flow 
With  its  balm  for  my  fever  and  pain, 
As  it  did  years  ago  !" 

Mabel  sighed  (while  a  tear  filled  and  fell,) 
"I  have  bade  all  my  singing  adieu  ; 
But  I've  a  truo  story  to  tell, 
And  I'll  tell  it  to  you. 

"  There's  a  bird's  nest  up  there  in  the  oak, 
On  the  bough  that  hangs  over  the  stream, 


SONG    AND    SILENCE. 

And  last  night  the  mother-bird  broke 
Into  song  in  her  dream. 

"  This  morning  she  woke,  and  was  still ; 
For  she  thought  of  the  frail  little  things 
That  needed  her  motherly  bill, 
Waiting  under  her  wings. 

"  And  busily,  all  the  day  long, 
She  hunted  and  carried  their  food, 
And  forgot  both  herself  and  her  song 
In  her  care  for  her  brood. 

"I  sang  in  my  dream,  and  you  heard  ; 
I  woke,  and  you  wonder  I'm  still ; 
But  a  mother  is  always  a  bird 
With  a  fly  in  its  bill  1" 


ALONE! 

ALL  alone  in  the  world  !  all  alone  ! 
With  a  child  on  my  knee,  or  a  wife  on  my  breast, 
Or,  sitting  beside  me,  the  beautiful  guest 
Whom  my  heart  leaps  to  greet  as  its  sweetest  and 
best, 

Still  alone  in  the  world  !  all  alone  ! 

With  my  visions  of  beauty,  alone  ! 
Too  fair  to  be  painted,  too  fleet  to  be  scanned, 
Too  regal  to  stay  at  my  feeble  command, 
They  pass  from  the  grasp  of  my  impotent  hand: 

Still  alone  in  the  world  !  all  alone  ! 

Alone  with  my  conscience,  alone  ! 
Not  an  eye  that  caa  see  when  its  finger  of  flame 


64  ALONE. 

Points  my  soul  to  its  sin,  or  consumes  it  with 

shame  ! 

Not  an  ear  that  can  hear  its  low  whisper  of  blame! 
Still  alone  in  the  world  !  all  alone  ! 

In  my  visions  of  self,  all  alone  ! 
The  weakness,  the  meanness,  the  guilt  that  I  see, 
The  fool  or  the  fiend  I  am  tempted  to  be, 
Can  only  be  seen  and  repented  by  me  : 

Still  alone  in  the  world  !  all  alone  ! 

Alone  in  my  worship,  alone  ! 
No  hand  in  the  universe  joining  with  mine, 
Can  lift  what  it  lays  on  the  altar  divine, 
Or  bear  what  it  offers  aloft  to  its  shrine  : 

Still  alone  in  the  world  !  all  alone  ! 

In  the  valley  of  death  all  alone  ! 
The  sighs  and  the  tears  of  my  friends  are  in  vain, 
For  mine  is  the  passage,  and  mine  is  the  pain, 
And  mine  the  sad  sinking  of  bosom  and  brain  : 

Still  alone  in  the  world  !  all  alone  ! 


ALONK  Go 

Not  alone  !  never,  never  alone  ! 
There  is  one  who  is  with  me  by  day  and  by  night, 
Who  sees  and  inspires  all  my  visions  of  light, 
And  teaches  my  conscience  its  office  aright : 

Not  alone  in  the  world  !  not  alone  ! 

Not  alone  !  never,  never  alone  ! 
He  sees  all  my  weakness  with  pitying  eyes, 
He  helps  me  to  lift  my  faint  heart  to  the  skies, 
And  in  my  last  passion  he  suffers  and  dies  : 

Not  alone  !  never,  never  alone  ! 


ALBERT  DURER  S  STUDIO. 

IN  the  liouse  of  Albert  Durer 

Still  is  seen  tlie  studio 
Where  the  pretty  Nurembergers 

(Cheeks  of  rose  and  necks  of  snow) 
Sat  to  have  their  portraits  painted, 

Thrice  a  hundred  years  ago. 

Still  is  seen  the  little  loop-hole 
Where  Fran  Durers  jealous  care 

Watched  the  artist  at  his  labor, 
And  the  sitter  in  her  chair, 

To  observe  each  word  and  motion 
That  should  pass  between  the  pair, 

Handsome,  hapless  Albert  Durer 
Was  as  circumspect  and  true 


ALBERT  DURER' S    STUDIO.  67 

As  the  most  correct  of  husbands, 

When  the  dear  delightful  shrew 
Has  him,  and  his  sweet  companions, 

Every  moment  under  view. 

But  I  trow  that  Albert  Durer 

Had  within  his  heart  a  spot 
Where  he  sat,  and  painted  pictures 

That  gave  beauty  to  his  lot, 
And  the  sharp,  intrusive  vision 

Of  Frau  Durer  entered  not. 

Ah  !  if  brains  and  hearts  had -loop-holes, 
And  Frau  Durer  could  have  seen 

All  the  pictures  that  his  fancy 
Hung  upon  their  walls  within, 

How  minute  had  been  her  watching, 
And  how  good  he  would  have  been  I 


THE  OLD  CLOCK  OF  PRAGUE. 

* 

THERE'S  a  curious  clock  in  the  city  of  Prague — 
A  remarkable  old  astronomical  clock — 

With  a  dial  whose  outline  is  that  of  an  egg, 
And  with  figures  and  fingers  a  wonderful  stock. 

It  announces  the  dawn  and  the  death  of  the  day, 
Shows  the  phases  of  moons  and  the  changes  of 

tides, 
Counts  the  months  and  the  years  as  they  vanish 

away, 

And  performs    quite  a  number  of  marvels   be 
sides. 

At  the  left  of  the  dial  a  skeleton  stands  ; 
And  aloft  hangs  a  musical  bell  in  the  tower, 


THE  OLD  CLOCK  OF  PRAGUE.  69 

Wliicli  lie  rings,  by  a  rope  that  he  holds  in  his 

hands, 
In  his  punctual  function  of  striking  the  hour. 

4 

And  the  skeleton  nods,  as  he  tugs  at  the  rope, 
At  an  odd  little  figure  that  eyes  him  aghast, 

As  a  hint  that  the  bell  rings  the  knell  of  his  hope, 
And  the  hour  that  is  solemnly  tolled  is  his  last. 

And  the  effigy  turns  its  queer  features  away 
(Much  as  if  for  a  snickering  fit  or  a  sneeze,) 

With  a  shrug  and  a  shudder,  that  struggle  to  say  : 
"  Pray  excuse  me,  but — just  an  hour  more,  if 
you  please  1" 

But  the  funniest  sight,  of  the  numerous  sights 
Which  the  clock  has  to  show  to  the  people  bo- 
low, 

Is  the  Holy  Apostles  in  tunics  and  tights, 
Who  revolve  in  a  ring,  or  proceed  in  a  row. 


70  THE  OLD  CLOCK  OF  P BAG  UK 

Tlieir  appearance  can  hardly  be  counted  sublime  ; 
And  their  movements  are  formal,  it  must  be  al 
lowed  ; 
But  they're  prompt,  for  they  always  appear  upon 

time, 
And  polite,  for  they  bow  very  low  to  the  crowd. 

This  machine  (so  reliable  papers  record) 
Was  the  work,  from  his  own  very  clever  design, 

Of  one    Hauusch,    who   died  in  the  year  of  our 

Lord 
One  thousand  four  hundred  and  ninety  and  nine. 

Did  the  people  receive  it  with  honor  ?  you  ask  ; 
Did  it  bring  a  reward  to  the  builder  ?  Ah,  well ! 
was  proper  that  they  should  have  paid  for  the 

task  ! 
And  they  did,  in  a  way  that  it  shocks  me  to  tell. 

For  suspecting   that  Hanusch  might  grow  to  bo 
vain, 


THE  OLD  CLOCK  OF  PRAGUE.  71 

Or  that  cities  around  them  might  covet  their 

prize, 
They  invented  a  story  that  he  was  insane, 

And,  to  stop  him  from  labor,  extinguished  his 

eyes  ! 

But    the  cunning    old    artist,    though    dying  in 

shame, 

May  be  sure  that  he  labored  and  lived  not  amiss; 
For  his  clock  has  outlasted  the  foes  of  his  fame, 
And  the  world  owes  him  much  for  a  lesson  like 
this  : 

That  a  private  success  is  a  public  offence, 
That  a  citizen's  fame  is  a  city's  disgrace, 
And  that  both  should  be  shunned  by  a  person  of 

sense, 

Who  would  live  with  a  whole  pair  of  eyes  in  hia 
face. 


A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

THERE'S  a  song  in  the  air  ! 

There's  a  star  in  the  sky  ! 

There's  a  mother's  deep  prayer 

And  a  baby's  low  cry  ! 

And  the  star  rains  its  fire  while  the  beautiful  sing, 
For  the  nianger  of  Bethlehem  cradles  a  king. 

There's  a  tumult  of  joy 

O'er  the  wonderful  birth, 

For  the  virgin's  sweet  boy 

Is  the  Lord  of  the  earth, 

Ay  !  the  star  rains  its  fire  and  the  Beautiful  sing, 
For  the  manger  of  Bethlehem  cradles  a  king  ! 

In  the  light  of  that  star 
Lie  the  ages  impearled  ; 


A    CHRISTMAS    CAROL.  ft 

And  that  song  from  afar 

Has  swept  over  the  world. 
Every  hearth  is  aflame,  and  the  Beautiful  sing 
In  the  homes  of  the  nations  that  Jesus  is  King. 

We  rejoice  in  the  light, 

And  we  echo  the  song 

. 
That  comes  down  through  the  night 

From  the  heavenly  throng. 
Ay  !  we  shout  to  the  lovely  evangel  they  bring, 
And  we  greet  in  his  cradle  our  Saviour  and  King 


VERSE8  READ  AT  TILE  H AD- 
LET    CENTENNIAL. 

(June  9tfi,   1859.) 

HEAKT  of  Hadley,  slowly  beating 

Under  midnight's  azure  breast, 
Silence  thy  strong  pulse  repeating 

Wakes  me — shakes  me — from  my  rest.* 

Hark  !  a  beggar  at  the  basement  ! 

Listen  !  friends  are  at  the  door  ! 
There's  a  lover  at  the  casement ! 

There  are  feet  upon  the  floor  ! 

*  The  pulsations  of  Hadley  Falls,  on  the  Connecticut,  are  felt 
for  many  miles  around,  in  favorable  conditions  of  the  atmos 
phere. 


THE  HADLEY   CENTENNIAL.  75 

But  they  knock  with  muffled  hammers, 

They  step  softly  like  the  rain, 
And  repeat  their  gentle  clamors 

Till  I  sleep  and  dream  again. 


Still  the  knocking  at  the  basement ; 

Still  the  rapping  at  the  door  ; 
Tireless  lover  at  the  casement ; 

Ceaseless  feet  upon  the  floor. 


Bolts  are  loosed  by  spectral  fingers, 
Windows  open  through  the  gloom, 

And  the  lilacs  and  syringas 
Breathe  their  perfume  through  the  room. 


'Mid  the  odorous  pulsations 
Of  the  air  around  my  bed, 

Throng  the  ghostly  generations 
Of  the  long  forgotten  dead 


76  THE  IIADLEY   CENTENNIAL. 

"Else  and  write  !"  with  gentle  pleading 
They  command  and  I  obey  ; 

And  I  give  to  you  the  reading 
Of  their  tender  words  to-day. 


"Children  of  the  old  plantation, 
Heirs  of  all  we  won  and  held, 

Greet  us  in  your  celebration — 
Us — the  nameless  ones  of  Eld  ! 


"  We  were  never  squires  or  teachers, 
We  were  neither  wise  nor  great, 

But  we  listened  to  our  preachers, 

Worshipped  God  and  loved  the  State. 


"  Blood  of  ours  is  on  the  meadow, 
Dust  of  ours  is  in  the  soil, 

But  no  marble  casts  a  shadow 
Where  we  slumber  from  our  toil. 


THE  HADLEY    CENIENNIAL.  77 

"  Unremembered,  unrecorded, 

We  are  sleeping  side  by  side, 
And  to  names  is  now  awarded 

That  for  which  the  nameless  died. 


"We  were  men  of  humble  station  ; 

We  were  women  pure  and  true  ; 
And  we  served  our  generation, — 

Lived  and  worked  and  fought  for  you. 

"  We  were  maidens,  we  were  lovers, 
We  were  husbands,  we  were  wives  ; 

But  oblivion's  mantle  covers 
All  the  sweetness  of  our  lives. " 


"  Praise  the  men  who  ruled  and  led  us ; 

Carry  garlands  to  their  graves  ; 
But  remember  that  your  meadows 

Were  not  planted  by  their  slaves. 


THE  1IADLEY    CENTENNIAL. 

"Children  of  the  old  plantation, 
Heirs  of  all  we  won  and  held, 

Greet  us  in  your  celebration, — 
Us,  the  nameless  ones  of  Eld." 


This  their  message,  and  I  send  it, 
Faithful  to  their  sweet  behest, 

And  my  toast  shall  e'en  attend  it, 
To  be  read  among  the  rest. 


Fill  to  all  the  brave  and  blameless 
Who,  forgotten,  passed  away  ! 

Drink  the  memory  of  the  nameless, 
Only  named  in  heaven  to-day  1 


WANTED. 

GOD  give  us  men  !    A  time  like  this  demands 
Strong  minds,  great  hearts,  true  faith,  and  ready 

hands ; 
Men  whom  the  lust  of  office  does  not  kill ; 

Men  whom  the  spoils  of  office  cannot  buy  ; 
Men  who  possess  opinions  and  a  will ; 

Men  who  have  honor, — men  who  will  not  lie  ; 
Men  who  can  stand  before  a  demagogiie, 

And    damn    his    treacherous  flatteries   without 

winking  ! 
Tall  men,  sun-crowned,  who  live  above  the  fog 

In  public  duty,  and  in  private  thinking  ; 
For    while    the  rabble,    with    their    thumb-worn 

creeds, 

Their  large  professions  and  their  little  deeds, — 
Mingle  in  selfish  strife,  lo  !  Freedom  weeps, 
Wrong  rules  the  land,  and  waiting  Justice  sleeps  ! 


MERLE,    THE    COUNSELLOR. 

OLD  MEKLE,  the  counsellor  and  guide, 
Aud  tall  young  Kolfe  walked  side  by  side 
At  the  sweet  hour  of  eventide. 

The  yellow  light  of  parting  day 
Upon  the  peaceful  landscape  lay, 
And  touched  the  mountain  far  away. 

The  tinkling  of  the  distant  herds, 
And  the  low  twitter  of  the  birds 
Mingled  with  childhood's  happy  words. 

The  old  man  raised  his  trembling  palm, 
And  bared  his  brow  to  meet  the  balm 
That  fell  with  twilight's  dewy  calm  ; 


MERLE,    THE    COUNSELLOR.  HI 

And  one  could  see  that  to  his  thought, 
The  scenes  and  sounds  around  him  brought 
Suggestions  of  the  heaven  he  sought. 


But  Eolfe,  his  young  companion,  bent 
His  moody  brow  in  discontent, 
And  sadly  murmured  as  he  went. 


For  vagrant  passions,  fierce  and  grim, 
And  fearful  memories  haunted  him, 
That  made  the  evening  glory  dim. 

Then  spoke  the  cheerful  voice  of  Merle  : 
"  Where  yonder  clouds  their  gold  unfurl, 
One  almost  sees  the  gates  of  pearl. 

"Nay,  one  can  hardly  look  amiss 
For  heaven,  in  such  a  scene  as  this, 
Or  fail  to  feel  its  present  bliss. 


83  MEELE,    THE   COUNSELLOR. 

"  So  near  we  stand  to  holy  things, 

And  all  our  high  imaginings, 

That  faith  forgets  to  lift  her  wings  !" 

Then  answered  Eolfe,  with  bitter  tone  : 
"If  thou  hast  visions  of  the  throne, 
Enjoy  them  ;  they  ara  all  thy  own. 

"  For  me  there  lives  no  God  of  love  ; 
For  me  there  bends  no  heaven  above  ; 
And  Peace,  the  gently  brooding  dove, 

"  Has  flown  afar,  and  in  her  stead 
Fierce  vultures  wheel  above  my  head, 
And  hope  is  sick  and  faith  is  dead. 

"Death  can  but  loose  a  loathsome  bond, 
And  from  the  depths  of  my  despond, 
I  see  no  ray  of  light  beyond." 


MERLE,    THE   COUNSELLOR.  83 

It  was  a  sad,  discordant  strain, 

That  brought  old  Merle  to  earth  again, 

And  filled  his  soul  with  solemn  pain. 


At  length  they  reached  a  leafy  wood, 
And  walked  in  silence,  till  they  stood 
Within  the  fragrant  solitude. 


Then  spake  old  Merle,  with  gentle  art 
"I  know  the  secret  of  thy  heart, 
And  will,  if  thou  desire,  impart." 


Rolfe  answered  with  a  hopeless  sigh, 
But  from  the  tear  that  brimmed  his  eye; 
The  old  man  gladly  caught  reply, 

And  spoke  :  "  Beyond  these  forest  trees 
A  city  stands  ;  and  sparkling  seas 
Wuft  up  to  it  the  evening  breeze. 


MEELE,    THE   COUNSELLOR. 

"  Thou  canst  not  see  its  gilded  domes, 
Its  plume  of  smoke,  its  pleasant  homes, 
Or  catch  the  gleam  of  surf  that  foams 


"And  dies  upon  its  verdant  shore, 
But  there  it  stands  ;  and  there  the  roar 
Of  life  shall  swell  for  evermore  ! 


"  The  path  we  walk  is  fair  and  wide, 
But  still  our  vision  is  denied 
The  city  and  its  nursing  tide. 


"  The  path  we  walk  is  wide  and  fair, 
But  curves  and  wanders  here  and  there, 
And  builds  the  wall  of  our  despair. 

"Make  straight  the  path,  and  then  shall  shine 
Through  trembling  walls  of  tree  and  vine 
The  vision  fair  for  which  we  pine. 


MERLE,    THE   COUNSELLOR.  85 

"And  thou,  my  son,  so  long  liast  been 

Along  the  crooked  ways  of  sin, 

Tliat  they  have  closed,  and  shut  thee  in. 

"  Make  straight  the  path  before  thy  feet. 
And  walk  within  it  firm  and  fleet, 
And  thou  shalt  see,  in  vision  sweet 

"  And  constant  as  the  love  supreme, 
With  closer  gaze  and  brighter  beam, 
The  peaceful  heaven  that  fills  my  dream." 

He  paused  :  no  more  his  lips  could  say  ; 
And  then,  beneath  the  twilight  gray, 
The  silent  pair  retraced  their  way. 

But  in  the  young  man's  eyes  a  light 

Shone  strong  and  resolute  and  bright, 

For  which  Merle  thanked  his  God  that  night. 


DANIEL   an  AY. 

IP  I  shall  ever  win  the  home  in  heaven 
For  whose  sweet  rest  I  humbly  hope  and  .pray, 
In  the  great  company  of  the  forgiven 
I  shall  be  sure  to  find  old  Daniel  Gray. 

I  knew  him  well ;  in  truth,  few  knev'  nim  better  ; 
For  my  young  eyes  oft  read  for  him  the  "Word, 
And  saw  how  meekly  from  the  crystal  letter 
He  drank  the  life  of  his  beloved  Lord. 

Old  Daniel  Gray  was  not  a  man  who  lifted 
On  ready  words  his  freight  of  gratitude, 
Nor  was  he  called  upon  among  the  i>ifted, 
In  the  prayer-meetings  of  his  neighborhood. 


DANIEL    GRAY.  87 

He  had  a  few  old-fashioned  words  and  phrases, 
Linked  in  with  sacred  texts  and  Sunday  rhymes  ; 
And  I  suppose  that  in  his  prayers  and  graces, 
I've  heard  them  all  at  least  a  thousand  times. 

I  see  him  now — his  form,  his  face,  his  motions, 
His  homespun  habit,  and  his  silver  hair, — 
And  hear  the  language  of  his  trite  devotions, 
Rising  behind  the  straight-backed  kitchen  chair. 

I  can  remember  how  the  sentence  sounded — 
"  Help  us,  O  Lord,  to  pray  and  not  to  faint !" 
And  how  the  "  conquering-and-to  conquer  "  round 
ed 
The  loftier  aspirations  of  the  saint. 

He  had  some  notions  that  did  not  improve  him, 

He  never  kissed  his  children — so  they  say  : 

And  finest  scenes  and  fairest  flowers  would  move 

him 
Less  than  a  horse-shoe  picked  up  in  the  way. 


88  DANIEL    GRAY. 

He  bad  a  hearty  hatred  of  oppression, 
And  righteous  words  for  sin  of  every  kind  ; 
Alas,  that  the  transgressor  and  transgression 
Were  linked  so  closely  in  his  honest  miiid  ! 


Yet  that  sweet  talc  of  gift  without  repentance, 
Told  of  the  Master,  touched  l»im  to  the  core ; 
And  tearless  he  could  never  read  the  sentence : 
"  Neither  do  I  condemn  thee:  sin  no  more." 


He  could  see  nought  but  vanity  in  beauty, 
And  nought  but  weakness  in  a  fond  caress, 
And  pitied  men  whose  views  of  Christian  duty 
Allowed  indulgence  in  such  foolishness. 

Yet  there  were  love  and  tenderness  within  him  ; 
And  I  am  told  that  when  his  Charley  died, 
Nor  nature's  need  nor  gentle  words  could  win  him 
From  his  fond  vigils  at  the  sleeper's  side. 


DANIEL  GRAY.  89 

And  when  they  came  to  bury  little  Charley, 
They  found  fresh  dew-drops  sprinkled  in  his  hair, 
And  on  his  breast  a  rose-bud  gathered  early, 
And  guessed,  but  did    not    know  who    placed    it 
there. 

Honest  and  faithful,  constant  in  his  calling, 
Strictly  attendant  on  the  means  of  grace, 
Instant  in  prayer,  and  fearful  most  of  falling-, 
Old  Daniel  Gray  was  always  in  his  place. 

A  practical  old  man,  and  yet  a  dreamer, 
He  thought  that  in  some  strange,  unlooked-for  way 
His   mighty   Friend    in   Heaven,   the    great    Re 
deemer, 
Would  honor  him  with  wealth  some  golden  day, 

This  dream  he  carried  in  a  hopeful  spirit 
Until  in  death  his  patient  eye  grew  dim, 
And  his  Kedeemer  called  him  to  inherit 
The  heaven  of  wealth  long  garnered  up  for  him. 


90  DANIEL  GRAY. 

So,  if  I  ever  win  the  homo  in  heaven 

For  whose  sweet  rest  I  humbly  hope  and  pray, 

In  the  great  company  of  the  forgiven 

I  shall  be  sure  to  find  old  Daniel  Gray. 


THE  MOUNTAIN  CHRISTEN 
ING. 

(A  Legend  of  the  Connecticut. ) 

How  did  they  manage  to  busy  themselves — 
Our  sires,  in  the  early  plantation  days  ? 

Grinding  their  axes  and  whittling  their  helves  ? 
Fishing  for  salmon  and  planting  maize? 

How  when  the  chopping  and  splitting  were  done? 

How  when  the  corn-fields  were  planted  and  hoed? 
How  when  the  salmon  had  ceased  to  run, 

And  the  bushes  were  cleared  from  the  old  Bay 
Eoad? 

They  were  not  men  who  stood  still  in  their  shoes, 
Or  who  clung  to  their  cabins  when  forests  were 
damp  ; 


93  THE  MOUNTAIN   CHRISTENING. 

So,  when  labor  was  finished,  they  cut  the  blues 
And  their  sticks  for  a  lively  exploring  tramp. 

'Twas  a  beautiful  morning  in  June,  they  say — 
Two  hundred  and  twenty  years  ago, 

When  armed  and  equipped  for  a  holiday, 
They  stood  where  Connecticut's  waters  flow, 

With  five  upon  this  side  and  five  upon  that, — 
Agawam's  bravest  and  hardiest  men, 

Hailing  each  other  with  lusty  chat, 
That  the   tall  woods  caught   and  tossed    over 
again. 

Holyoke,  the  gentle  and  daring,  stood 
On  the  Eastern  bank  with  his  trusty  four, 

And  Eowland  Thomas,  the  gallant  and  good, 
Headed  the  band  on  the  other  shore. 

"Due  North  !"  shouted  Holyoke  and  all  his  men. 
"Due  North!"  answered  they    on  the  opposite 
beach ; 


THE  MOUNTAIN   CHRISTENING.  93 

And  northward  they  started,  the  sturdy  ten, 
With  their  haversacks  filled  and  a  musket  each. 


The  w<5men  ran  panting  to  bid  them  good-bye, 
And  sweet  Mary  Pynchon  was  there  (I  guess), 

With  a  sigh  in  her  throat  and  a  tear  in  her  eye 
As  Holyoke  marched  into  the  wilderness, 


And   the   boys   were   all  wondering  where   they 

would  go, 
And  what  they  would  meet  in  the  dangerous 

way; 

And  the  good  wives  were  gossiping  to  and  fro, 
And  prating  and  shaking  their  heads  all  day. 


Up  the  bright  river  they  travelled  abreast, 
Calling  each  other  from  bank  to  bank, 

Till  the  hot  sun  slowly  rolled  into  the  West, 
And  gilded  the  mountain-tops  where  it  sank. 


94          THE  MOUNTAIN   CHRISTENING. 

« 

They  lighted  their  camp-fires,  and  ate  of    their 

fare, 

And  drank  of  the  water  that  ran  at  their  feet, 
And  wrapped  in  the  balm  of  the  cool  evening  air, 
Sank  down  to  a  sleep  that  was  dreamtess  and 
sweet. 

The  great  falls  roared  in  their  ears  all  night, 
And  the  sturgeon   splashed   and   the    wild-cat 
screamed, 

Bat  they  did  not  wake  till  the  morning  light 
Red  through  the  willowy  branches  beamed. 

Brief  was  the  toilet  and  short  the  grace, 
And  strong  were  the  viands   that   broke  their 

fast ; 
Then  onward  they  pressed  till  they  reached  the 

place 
Where  the  river  between  two  mountains  passed. 

Up  the  rough  ledges  they  clambered  amain, 
Holyoke  and  Thomas  on  either  hand, 


THE  MOUNTAIN   CHRISTENING.          95 

Till  high  in  mid-passage  they  paused,  and  theu 
They  tearfully  gazed  on  a  lovely  land. 


Down  by  the  Ox-Bow's  southerly  shore 

Licking  the  wave  bowed  an  autlered  buck  : 

And  Northward  and  Westward  a  league  or  more 
Stretched  the  broad  meadows  of  Nonotuck. 

Straight  up  the  river  an  Indian  town 
Filled  the  soft  air  with  its  musical  hum, 

And  children's  voices  were  wafted  down 
Prom  the  peaceful  shadows  of  Hockanum. 

Eude  little  patches  of  greening  maize 
Dappled  the  landscape  far  and  wide, 

And  away  in  the  North  in  the  sunset's  blaze, 
Sugar-loaf  stood  and  was  glorified  1 

The  morning  dawned  on  the  doublf  group 
Facing  each  other  on  opposite  shores, 


96          THE  MOUNTAIN    CIIE1STEN1NG. 

Where  ages  ago  with  a  mighty  swoop 
The  waters  parted  the  mountain  doors. 


"Let  us  christen  the  mountains,"  said  Holyoke  in 

glee; 
"Let  us  christen  the  mountains,"  said  Thomas 

again ; 
"  That  mountain  for  you,  and  this  mountain  for 

me!" 
And  their  trusty  fellows  responded  :  "Amen  !" 

Then  Holyoke  buried  his  palm  in  the  stream, 
And  tossed   the  pure  spray  toward  the  moun 

tain's  brow, 

And  said,  while  it  shone  in  the  sun's  first  beam, 
"Fair    mountain,    thou    art    Mount     Holyoke 
now  !" 

The  sun  shone  full  on  the  "Western  height, 
When  Thomas  came  up  from  the  crystal  tide  : 


THE  MOUNTAIN    CHRISTENING.          67 
c'  I  name  thee  Thomas  by  Christian  rite  I" 
"  Thou  art  Mount    Thomas  !"  they  all  replied. 

They  paused  but  a  moment  when  rounding  a  bluff 
Shot  an  Indian's  boat  with  its  stealthy  oar, 
And  with  strings  of  wampuin  and  gaudy  stuff 
They  beckoned  it  in  to  the  Western  shore. 

Gracious  and  brief  was  the  bargain  made 
By  the  white  man's  potent  pantomime  ; 

And  the  delicate  boat  with  its  dainty  blade 
Bore  them  over  the  river  one  man  at  a  time. 

There  were  greetings  and  jests  in  every  mouth, 
And  hearty  farewells  to  "  Holyoke  "and  "  Tom:" 

Then    the   gleeful   men    turned   their  steps   due 

South, 
And  took  a  bee-line  for  Agawam. 

They  passed  Willimansett  at  noon  that  day, 
And  Chicopee  just  as  the  sun  went  down, 


D8  THE   MOUNTAIN   CHRISTENING. 

And  when  the  last  daylight  had  faded  away, 
All  hungry  and  weary  they  entered  the  towfi/ 

Mr.  Pynchon  demanded  a  full  report, 
Which  Holyoke  wrote  for  the  two  commands  ; 

And  when  he  went  down  to  the  General  Court 
He  placed  it  in  Governor  Winthrop's  hands. 


THE  links  of  fifty  golden  years 

Reach  to  the  golden  ring 
Which  now,  with  glad  and  grateful  tears, 

We  celebrate  and  sing. 
O  chain  of  love  !     O  ring  of  gold  ! 

That  have  the  years  defied  ; 
And  still  in  happy  bondage  hold 

The  old  man  and  his  bride  ! 

The  locks  are  white  that  once  were  black  ? 

The  sight  is  feebler  grown  ; 
But  through  the  long  and  weary  track 

The  heart  has  held  its  own  ! 
O  chain  of  love  !  O  ring  of  gold  ! 

That  time  could  not  divide  ; 
nhat  kept  through  changes  manifold 

The  old  man  and  his  bride  ! 


100  A  GOLDEN  WEDDING-SONG. 

TlTe  little  ones  have  come  and  gone  ; 

The  old  have  passed  away  ; 
But  love — immortal  love — lives  on, 

And  blossoms  'mid  decay. 
O  chain  of  love  !     O  ring  of  gold  ! 

That  have  the  years  defied  ; 
And  still  with  growing  strength  infold 

The  old  man  and  his  bride  ! 

The  golden  bridal  !  ah,  how  sweet 

The  music  of  its  bell, 
To  those  whose  hearts  the  vows  repeat 

Their  lives  have  kept  so  well  ! 
O  chain  of  love  !     O  ring  of  gold  ! 

O  marriage  true  and  tried  ! 
That  bind  with  tenderness  untold 
The  old  man  and  his  bride  ! 


